


Deserters of The Balcony

by skamsnake



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Cuddling, Feelings, Filler scenes, First Times, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Niccoló POV, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skamsnake/pseuds/skamsnake
Summary: Don’t stare.Feeling the heat of Martino’s gaze burning in his back, he takes Sana’s hand and shakes it as if they don’t already know each other. As if they haven’t known each other since they were kids, just like most of the Allagui’s and Fares’s.It’s not like he isn’t grateful she invited him. He just didn’t expect his crush to be there too. Wellmaybehe did, just not that he would look so goddamncute.Or, Niccolò's POV through some of the iconic scenes of this season.





	1. Radio Show Host

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful response to the first chapter of this lil thing.  
> So, I'm absolutely in love with these two already and because I love writing Niccoló I decided to make this a separate chaptered fic with his POV through the season and rename it 'Deserters of the Balcony' (because how adorable is that little nickname?!?!!) and make Radio Show Host the title of the first chapter instead.
> 
> Enjoy <3

_Don’t stare._

Feeling the heat of Martino’s gaze burning in his back, he takes Sana’s hand and shakes it as if they don’t already know each other. As if they haven’t known each other since they were kids, just like most of the Allagui’s and Fares’s.

It’s not like he isn’t grateful she invited him. He just didn’t expect his crush to be there too. Well _maybe_ he did, just not that he would look so goddamn _cute_.

_Do. Not. Stare._

_You know what? Better not look at him at all._ He thinks to himself, as he makes his way across the room on shaky legs to an empty seat, the dry carrot cake crumbling between his trembling fingers.

There’s a pretty girl sitting next to Martino, and he doesn’t miss his adorable laugh as she whispers something in his ear, and if it wasn’t for Martino’s horrible attempt at faking a sudden important phone call, he might assume Martino was actually interested in her.

“Wait I can’t hear you, let me go somewhere else” Niccolò hears him shout, a little too loud to be entirely convincing.

He knows he probably shouldn’t. It would seem weird, stalkerish even, if he got caught. Still, Niccolò can’t help himself. He gets up, not even bothering to come up with a reasonable excuse, and follows the sound of Martino’s voice down the empty hall, slipping into the dark room next to where he hears Martino yell out a “Off you fuck!” before hanging up on the imaginary caller.

_Shit._

Niccolò freezes, holding his hands up in resignation as Martino steps into his field of view through the large window between the rooms.

Only when Martino doesn’t react at all, doesn’t look back up at him for a second even though he’s _that_ up close, does Niccolò realize that Martino can’t actually _see_ him. That the bright light streaming in from the window behind him is providing a mirror-like silver surface reflecting only the image of himself, and not his observer.

Slowly, like a research biologist catching sight of new or endangered species, Niccolò slips into the chair and watches him, feels his heart swell in his chest and unwillingly pull upwards at the corners of his lips as Martino slumps down in the chair and starts tapping playfully at the padded wall behind him.

Niccolò couldn’t take his eyes off him if he wanted to, watching with fondness as Martino starts playing curiously with the switches, putting on the large headphones and scribbling something on a piece of paper, blissfully unaware of his audience. The soft tones from Niccolò‘s favorite piano piece from The Truman Show playing in the back of his mind as a background track to Martino’s playful adventures. He’s never been much of a film guy, but he knows his soundtracks. This particular one by heart, and it seems oddly fitting for the current situation.

“Test? Test one, two, three? Sah, sah!” Martino tries, smiling at his own act.

“Welcome everyone! We’re broadcasting here at Osvaldo Radio and this is our course on how to grow weed in your own closet!” he starts, and Niccolò gets an idea.

“...A strongly requested course by our director Silvia Mirabella, whom we thank. This course aims to-”

Niccolò switches off the one-way mirror effect and leans down, pretending to be looking at something out of sight to not overwhelm Martino.

Martino freezes, Niccolò can tell out of the corner of his eye. Like a deer caught in headlights, and suddenly he feels bad.

“Why did you stop?” he smiles, trying to take the edge off the situation. Martino looks embarrassed and Niccolò‘s heart drops. He didn’t mean to embarrass him.

_Why do you always embarrass everyone?_

“I wasn’t recording, I’m just fooling around” Martino excuses himself.

_Too bad._

Martino smiles at him curiously. He must’ve said that out loud.

“Cool place, don’t you think?” Niccolò tries to diverge the conversation, but all he can think about is how to get them both out of this place. To get them somewhere they can talk. Somewhere beautiful.

“Yeah the problem is not the place” Martino smiles, and Niccolò can feel himself smile like an idiot in return.

“So what is it then?”

“Well maybe it’s the carrot cake that you need one hundred glasses of water to swallow” Martino teases, and Niccolò can't stop staring at his eyes.

“Or the 525 letters which compose all the paragraphs of the code of conduct?” he jokes.

“Did you really count all of them?”

_No, I was busy watching you._

“Yes, I did” he laughs, and Martino smiles back at him. A moment passes between them, and it’s almost too much. His soft curls, the spark in his eye.

It’s not like Niccolò hasn’t seen those curls at school before, or let himself steal a look at those eyes. They just haven’t been looking back at him like this until now, and now all he wants to do is dive right into them.

“Is that the balcony?” he asks, gazing towards the window, pretending he doesn’t know. Pretending he hasn’t planned a school break escape a thousand times reading Chicco Rodi’s manual.

 

**

 

“Is that San Giovanni?” Niccolò asks, not even coming close to what he’d really wanted to ask.

It didn’t take more than a brick phone and a joint to charm Martino and persuade him to climb through the fence and up the worn down stairs to _La Torretta_ , the old balcony closed off to students.

“Those little towers over there?” Martino asks.

He’s looking for a sign in Martino’s reaction, a sign that he knows what Niccolò is _really_ asking. A sign that Martino knows _Via_ San Giovanni too, the street below the basilica or _Gay Street_ as the public likes to call it _,_ just as well as him. Or at least _half_ as well as him.

“Yes it is.” Martino just replies, not giving much away.

And for a moment, Niccolò regrets he didn’t ask differently, more directly. Still it had felt more smooth, more subtle, than just randomly starting to talk about sucking dick or something.

“Well, I’m gonna light up” he interrupts his own regret and sits down, taking the opportunity to really look at Martino as he joins him, leans against the railing, the setting sun playing in his auburn hair.

Niccolò asks about Silvia, mostly to avoid talking about Sana and his past, passing the joint to Martino, not missing the way his soft lips wrap around it and the way he tilts his head back slightly and exposes his neck as he blows out the smoke.  

_Don’t stare._

_Okay, you’re staring now. Stop it. Stop. It._

“You don’t look very happy about this radio thing?” he manages.

“It’s a long story” Martino smiles, and Niccolò just wants to keep making him smile like that. Just like that.

“Do you have anything better to do?”

_Anyone better?_

“No, but I think we have to go back inside at some point”

_Ugh._

“This _sucks_ !” he laughs and jokes on, revelling in Martino’s smile back at him. _Just keep making him smile._

“Which class are you in?”

_Fuck._

“5B”

“I’ve never seen you?” Martino asks, passing him the joint.

_I fuck everything up._

He takes another drag. “I was at Virgilio last year.”

A moment of silence passes between them, and it feels intimate in a way Niccolò can’t quite explain. And maybe it’s just the weed, or the setting sun over La Torretta, but he hasn’t felt calmer, safer, in a long time. For the first time he isn’t scared of what questions might come, what answers might be needed. He wants to tell Martino everything.

“Oh, there you are” a light, insistent voice interrupts them, and the moment is lost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3


	2. You Take My Self Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niccolò's thoughts at Silvia's 80's party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG how perfect was this clip??!!  
> I know I promised smut (and I will deliver, promise!) but I absolutely adore Niccolò and really wanted to explore his thoughts and feelings in this intense scene, so I decided to make this a chaptered thing which will continue with Nicco's POV through some of the iconic scenes throughout the season. I hope you'll like it and that I can do this beautiful character justice <3

 

Niccolò knocks on the door and adjusts his bandana.

_Honestly, this is a bad idea._

“Can’t wait to meet your friends” Maddalena smiles, squeezing his arm slightly.

He can tell she’s nervous. It’s not like he can blame her. After everything that happened last year they haven’t really gone out much, at least not together. She seems happy that he’s meeting new people though, and he couldn’t bear to turn down her offer to go with him. Obviously, he’d prefer going to this particular party himself, but she has done so much for him. Sometimes he wonders if he would have survived without her.

“Ciao!” someone he doesn’t know opens the door to Silvia’s apartmentment, music and loud singing streaming out into the dark hallway, and somehow he feels disappointed that Martino isn’t the one standing in the door.

_And what would you have done then? Introduced your crush to your girlfriend, again? Asshole._

He spots him immediately on the couch with Emma, hoping no one notices how much the sight of Martino affects him as he greets Silvia and the others absentmindedly and moves across the room with Maddalena in his hand.

He feels Martino’s gaze on him. There’s no real scientific explanation to it, he just always knows when Martino’s looking at him. He can _feel_ it. On his skin and in his bones. In his heart.

_Just look back at him, dammit._

Taking a deep breath, Niccolò finally manages to turn around and it’s like taking a punch to the gut. The hazel brown eyes he’s pictured in his mind for weeks are looking into someone else’s, and the lips he’s been fantasizing about every since they first spoke to him are occupied with others than his.

Niccolò _tries_ , he really does. Tries to summon every bit of reason inside himself to fight the urge to march over and pull them apart, tries to fight his legs as they move with determination, tries to tell his brain to _back the fuck off_ but Niccolò’s isn’t exactly known as the master of self-control.

“Oh, so these radio parties are just an excuse to have orgies, huh?” he hears himself say, pushing Emma’s body away from Martino and squeezing himself down between them on the couch.

_And the award for douchebag of the year goes to-_

“Come on. Stop hooking up, let’s go sing a song the three of us” he babbles on, slipping an arm around both of them, feeling Martino stiffen slightly at the touch.

“The deserters of the balcony” he tries to lighten the mood.

“Alright, if you manage to convince Elio” Emma says, grabbing Niccolò’s arm and leaning into it, her cheek brushing against his hand, and if Niccolò wasn’t so distracted by the fact that she just called Martino _Elio_ , _god he loves the soundtrack to that movie,_ he’d probably pulled back.

“Elio?”

_What is she trying to say?_

“Look at him, doesn’t he look exactly like Elio Germano?”

_Oh._

Niccolò turns to look at Martino. “You know what, that’s actually kinda true” he laughs, and Martino looks so cute when he rolls his eyes in return. “Come on Elio, let’s go sing a song” he smiles.

Martino’s not really looking back at him, and for a moment Niccolò wonders if he overstepped some boundary, if he overstayed his welcome.

_Of course he did, he always do. But it’s too late now._

“He doesn’t like karaoke” Emma continues.

“Everyone likes karaoke!”

“I don’t” Martino ensures, still not really looking at him.

“Maybe because you’re afraid to let out your hidden homosexuality?” Niccolò teases, and he’s clearly overstepping boundaries now. He just wants Martino to _look_ at him.

“Eh well yes, you caught me” Martino sighs and smiles, and Niccolò laughs with relief.  

_At least he’s smiling now. Just keep making him smile._

“Well it’s fine by me. I love gays” Emma adds, and Niccolò can feel his body react to her words with hostility, piling every bad intention he can think of onto those words, reading every prejudice he’s ever met in his life into them.

“All… _gays_?” he almost sneers and he knows he’s probably just trying to pick a fight, but it’s like he can’t help himself.

“Of course, they’re _fun!_ ”

He retracts his arm where it was resting on her shoulder and turns to face her.

_Definitely picking a fight now._

“Don’t you think that’s a bit stereotypical?” he says, and it’s not like he doesn’t know it’s not what she meant. Not like he didn’t just accidentally do it himself just before when he was insinuating that all gay people love karaoke, but he’s in too deep now.

“Why?” she looks confused.

“Because it’s like saying all Arabs are terrorists.”

“But I said they’re fun, it’s not a _bad_ thing!” and usually he would go on a rant about how the very act of generalising, whether good or bad, is problematic in itself but he doesn’t really want to talk to talk to her at all. He just wants to talk to Martino.  

“Well, I know a lot of very boring gays” he smiles, turning towards him and Niccolò’s not even sure what the fuck he was trying to say with that statement, but Martino is looking away like he wants to be anywhere else but here.

_Well done fucking everything up._

“Well, this conversation is boring. Can we go dance or does that also threaten your virility?” Emma breaks the silence and Martino smiles, seems eager enough to get away.

They both get up and leave Niccolò on the couch and for the first time tonight he feels somewhat of a relief that Maddi is there with him.

 

**

 

He pulls her closer, feels the music pounding in his chest as she wraps her arms around him and leans in for a kiss. It’s actually nice. Like a sweet melody he knows how to play by ear. She’s smiling, and it’s nice to see her happy again, but Niccolò has never been one to settle for _nice_ . He wants the full-scale _symphony_ . And every cell in his body is screaming at him to find that symphony in the crowd, to not let it slip away. Even if chances are small that Martino would even be interested, would even look his way, he just _has_ to know for sure. Has to at least _try_.

Turning his head slightly, he lets his gaze wander the room, searching the crowd and finding a pair of eyes looking straight at him, and it’s like time stops.

Martino isn’t just looking, it’s blatant and unashamed _staring,_  and it’s making something inside Niccolò burst open. It’s like everything else around him disappears. Maddalena, Emma, the ceiling above them and the floor under him. It’s like he’s floating, and all he sees is Martino’s face, bathed in red light and tantalizing black shadows. His eyes, drilling into Niccolò’s and tearing down his walls, telling him everything he’s ever wanted to hear, everything he’s ever needed to know.

He can tell Martino really _sees_ him. Sees his eyes on him from across the room, sees the want in them. And Niccolò can’t help but imagine it’s Martino’s breath he can feel on his lips. Martino’s soft lips that presses against his in silent invitation. Can’t stop himself from wondering how it would feel to have Martino pull him closer, his tongue grazing over his lips, feeling his own chest heaving as he parts them slowly, invitingly. Feel Martino’s chest rise and fall as he licks tentatively into his mouth, the burning sensation all over his body almost too much as he opens up to it, lets their tongues explore each others mouths as they move to the pulse of the music and the beat of their hearts-

“Colino?!” Maddalena pulls back and laughs sweetly, looking down at his crotch suggestively. “ _Really?_ ”

He just smiles, trying to hide his frustration. He doesn’t try to explain. It’s not like it’s a big deal anyway. Not like he hasn’t gotten a boner just from listening to music before. Like, a beautiful chord descending the circle of fifths to the tonic or a perfect appoggiatura. The only problem is, the music isn’t what’s giving him a boner right now. Nor is it his girlfriend.

 

**

 

He was just going to the bathroom to splash some cold water in his face when the music suddenly stopped and was replaced by shouting and chaos and sounds of clinking glass. He’s still not exactly sure what happened, but he knows that the party is definitely over, and that two heavy plastic bags filled with trash and bottles have made him the happiest man in the world. Without them he wouldn’t be alone with Martino right now.

They’re leaning against the trash cans, neither of them eager to go back inside, and Niccolò once again gathers all his strength and turns to look at him. This time, Martino is looking back and it’s almost too much. His eyes are warm and kind and full of questions, and Niccolò knows he owes him answers. He’s just never really been good with answers.

“ _Elio_ ” he tries.

“What do you want?” Martino asks and even though he’s smiling, Niccolò can tell he means it. Suddenly it hits him how brave Martino is. How much it must take to make his mouth speak the words his eyes have been saying all night. The words Niccolò himself has been dying to ask for weeks.

_You. I want you._

“Do you know what Maddalena calls me?” he says instead, because he’s not brave. Not like Martino.

“No?”

“Colino”

“ _Colino_?”

He lights up a cigarette, trying to calm down his nerves. “When I was in middle school I used to have really bad allergies and my nose kept running, so…”

Martino laughs. “How long have you been with her?”

“Since we were 16. But we met in middle school” he says and he can tell Martino is discouraged by that information. He gets it, he really does. Three years is fucking long.

_She’s my best friend. I think she saved me. I just couldn’t-_

“To be completely honest, we’re more like brother and sister. Last time we fucked was over two months ago”

“Okay” Martino laughs uncomfortably.

“If you know what I mean”

_I don’t know how to leave her._

“But I can’t leave her”

And this is where he’ll do what he always does when things get difficult. When really he should be saying what he feels. Make up a story, a joke, when really he should be talking about the things that matter. And Martino’s buying it.

It’s not fair and he should feel bad. Feel bad for making a joke about a disabling condition, feel bad for talking about Maddalena like this, feel bad for whatever he’s making Martino feel right now. But all he can think about is how cute Martino looks with that frown on his face and how much he wants to kiss it off him.

The hobbit thing is what gives him away.

_Finally._

_“So_ you’re kidding me with this shit, huh?” Martino laughs. “Come on, you’re a piece of shit!”

_You have no idea._

“But I didn’t believe you at first”

_God, you’re cute._

“What, you absolutely fell for it” Niccolò laughs and it’s relieving, soothing even, to laugh together like this.

The silence that follows isn’t an uncomfortable silence. It’s a calm, safe silence like the one he felt on the balcony and all Niccolò hears is his own heartbeat and the quiet notes of _Visions of Gideon_ playing in the back of his mind.

_This is it, Elio._

Niccolò takes a deep breath and gathers all his strength, feeling tension and energy prickle in his muscles as his brain tries to convince his pinky to move. To touch. To _try_.

It’s electric. Like a spark running from where his finger meets Martino’s and up his arm, through his body and to his brain, lighting up every cell on it’s way. Not sure how it’s even possible to feel the touch of a pinky this intensely, he just knows that he never wants it to stop.

They lean in closer, and it’s like the air around them is magnetic, pulling them towards each other, heavy and heated with every desire unveiled. Martino is looking at him too, like _really_ looking, and Niccolò isn’t afraid anymore. Isn’t afraid of what he might say or do wrong. Isn’t scared of his own thoughts. He just lets himself feel what he feels.

_You. I feel you._

Niccolò barely notices the sound of a door busting open, but he knows Martino’s lips aren’t where he wants them. He has turned his head and Niccolò does too, finding a crowd of people he barely knows flooding the street, interrupting their moment and stealing their kiss.

But it’s okay. Because now they know, and they don’t need to rush it.

_Their time will come._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Your comments absolutely make my day so please let me know what you think <33


	3. Red Thread of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niccolò and Martino spend (almost) three days in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Italia is officially KILLING me! Gaaawddd today's clip hurts so gooood!  
> Anyways, I hope you'll like this little insight into those few days between the pool kiss and the red thread as I imagine them.
> 
> Btw, Niccolò is referred to as "Niccuciolo" in this chapter, since I found "cucciolo" googling pet names for kids/grandkids (means puppy/cub) and thought it was CUTEEE. 
> 
> Ti amo! <3

 

“Fuck I’m cold!” Martino laughs into the kiss, his body shivering slightly and his lips starting to turn a light blue-ish purple. Niccolò smiles at his own teeth chattering but he just _has_ to kiss Martino again. Just _has_ to make sure this whole thing is not just a product of his own vivid imagination.

Only a week ago, he could barely touch Martino's pinky with his own without spontaneously combusting and _now-_ now he's actually  _kissing_ him. Like, for real lip-on-lip _kissing_ him, and if his fingers weren't so frozen he'd pinch himself just to make sure it's all real.

That the deep, echoing sound of Martino moving towards him in the water wasn’t just his ears playing him a trick, and the white sheet floating around them, making him look like something out of this world, _like an angel_ , wasn’t just something his eyes had made up. That the softness of Martino’s lips against his as he pulled NIccolò closer in the water wasn’t just his skin pretending and his mind running wild with a dream too good to be true.

“Can we get inside already?” Martino giggles and really there’s no good reason why they’re still standing here in the dark, cold courtyard at the back of the building where Niccolò threw the bike not even caring enough to lock it before pulling Martino close again, the soaked through clothes clinging to their bodies as they kissed deeply and with such force that Niccolò had no choice but to walk backwards towards the wall with the weight of Martino’s body against his. So consumed with the sensation of Martino’s lips, his hands, his hips that Niccolò couldn’t feel the cold if he _tried_ to.

“Yeah let’s get inside” Niccolò agrees nonetheless and takes Martino’s hand, pulling him inside the building and up the stairs, stopping on every other step to kiss him again because _god those lips_ he just can’t help himself.

 

**

“Here are some dry ones” Niccolò says, placing a stack of clean clothes and a fresh towel on the table next to the bathroom sink before turning on the shower. “Just let it run for a bit, it takes some time to heat up”

“Thanks” Martino smiles, beautiful and a little shy, and it’s not like Niccolò picked those particular sweatpants because they’re extra tight fitting, or that one teal blue t-shirt he owns because Martino seems to prefer blue. And it’s not like he’s staring when Martino turns and starts to pull off his wet t-shirt, not at his shoulder blades and the lean muscle playing under his skin, not up to his neck and back down over his shoulder _and_ _oh god is that a tattoo_ -

“Are you gonna stand there and watch the whole time or?” Martino laughs as their eyes meet over his shoulder.

“Uh- uhm no, sorry” Niccolò clears his throat and steps out of the bathroom. “I’ll go make us something to eat”

“No tabasco, please” Martino shouts from the bathroom teasingly.

“Fuck you” Niccolò laughs and fights the urge to walk right back in there and kiss the grin off his face.

In the kitchen he takes out his phone. Six missed calls and three texts, and he knows he has to do something at some point. He _knows,_ okay.

_Hey, where did you guys go? We’ll finish our beers and join you._

_Hello?! Where the fuck did you go??_

_Colino I swear to god-_

He shoves it in his pocket and opens the fridge.

 

 ** 

“Thanks for the snack” Martino mumbles, mouth still full as he reaches over to put his plate on the nightstand next to the bed where they’re currently finding themselves half sitting, half lying.

“It was surprisingly… _sufferable_ ” he teases and it seems like the perfect excuse to jump him.

“Sufferable huh?!” Niccolò pushes him back on the bed and straddles him, pinning Martino’s arms under his knees, ready to attack. “Is _that_ what this is to you?!” the feigned frown on his face no way near hiding the huge smile threatening to break out and the flutter in his heart as he starts to tickle Martino.

“Okay, okay!” Martino squirms under him giggling, trying to twist himself free of Niccolò’s hold but not _really_

“Okay, _what_?” Niccolò raises a brow at him, releasing his hold on Martino slightly.

“Okay” Martino sighs, still catching his breath “...maybe I _did_ suffer a little bit” Martino bursts out laughing again and Niccolò’s right back on him, tickling him like his life depended on it until they’re both out of breath giggling. Until Martino finally manages to push him off and roll them over, both panting from pure bliss and utter exhaustion. Martino climbs on top of him, now the one to pin Niccolò down and take his breath away in equal measure, not by means of tickling but by kissing him with the same determination as in the pool only a few hours ago.

And Niccolò can’t believe this is it. That’s it’s actually happening. His roaring mind trying to keep up with his racing heart and this time he actually pinches himself just to check it isn’t just a dream. To make sure it won’t all be gone tomorrow and he’ll find himself alone again.

“Maybe I should go?” Martino mumbles into his neck where he rests in Niccolò’s arms, spent from laughing and kissing.

“Why?” Niccolò smiles, trying not to notice the tears suddenly burning behind his eyes.

“I mean, I can stay if-“ Martino looks up at him, fingers playing with the sleeve of Niccolò’s t-shirt “if you want me to?”

_Please stay._

_“_ Please stay” and for the first time in a long time, Niccolò lets himself speak the words his mind is forming. For the first time in a long time he feels free. _Real._

“I’d really like that.”

 

**

It’s pitch black in the room and he really should be sleeping by now but he just can’t bring himself to close his eyes. Instead he lies wide awake, listening to Martino’s steady breathing next to him, feeling the dip of the mattress and the warmth of his body from where he’s lying, afraid that if he goes to sleep it’ll all disappear with the dawning morning light. He just can’t. Can’t let it slip away.

Niccolò reaches down to the floor and fishes his phone out of his jeans pocket, the dull green light from the phone blinding him slightly. Three more missed calls. At least it seems she stopped at some point. The tiny icon in the top of his screen blinks insistently, indicating his inbox is full and new messages will roll in and flood it if he as much as attempts to delete any, reminding him why he hates phones. It takes all his willpower to open it, seeing the first few lines of the last messages.

_It’s not fair to Emma either, wh..._

_Does Martino even know that y.._

_Sorry I’m just worried, please c…_

_I’m coming over tomorrow._

Not bothering to read them he opens a new text and types. “Don’t come over.”

He puts the phone away and curls up to the warm, safe body next to him, his arm coming around Martino’s back to lock under his arm, hand resting on his chest to feel the soothing rise and fall of his calm breathing and the quiet beat of his heart. He buries his nose in Martino’s soft auburn hair, thinking that maybe _maybe_ he could fall asleep like this.

_Can’t we just stay in here forever?_

 

**

Martino pushes the full cart in front of him, clearly struggling to follow Niccolò as he rushes through the store piling food and drinks into it like they are in fact preparing for the looming pandemic they spent the morning discussing in bed before Niccolò had convinced Martino to move into his bed for the holiday.

“I appreciate you trying to improve your cooking skills, but do we really need _five_ bags of pasta?” Martino laughs as Niccolò piles eight and some cans of tomato on top of the bags of pasta, and who’s even counting at this point? All he knows is Martino’s smiling and Niccolò can’t remember the last time he felt this happy.

“Gotta stay prepared” Niccolò winks, picking three different bottles if red wine to go with the beer already in the cart.

“And what about-” Martino hesitates as they stroll through the health and beauty section looking for the apricot shampoo Niccolò had to use dirty tricks and kisses to persuade Martino into admitting he uses. “What about _this_ kind of prepared?” Martino nods at the isle next to him shyly and Niccolò stops in his tracks, gaze wandering from Martino’s eyes to the colorful packets hanging next to them.

“This kind of prepared too!” he grins and picks out two different packs and throws them in the cart along with three bottles of his now favorite shampoo. “We never know how long that pandemic’s gonna last!”

 

**

“Oh god, I’m so full!” Martino pushes the empty plate in front of him and leans back in the chair, rubbing his stomach demonstratively.

“See? I _can_ cook proper food” Niccolò smiles smugly, getting up to take the plates to the sink. “Now, you just relax and let me do the dishes” and Martino smiles as he watches him work.

_Just keep making him smile._

“Can I take a look around the house?” Martino asks moments later, walking off before Niccolò gets a chance to deny him. As if he would ever deny him anything.

As he dries off the pan he used to make a perfect carbonara, _no tabasco this time,_ he hears the light pressing of keys on the piano, the tell tale cautious sound of fingers carefully searching for the right notes, the melody they’re currently trying to form making Niccolò melt at the memory.

“I’ve always loved that song” Niccolò smiles as he enters the room where Martino’s sitting by the piano. “Did you know that Remo Saraceni built the sixteen foot long, full three-octave walking piano just so that Josh and MacMillan could play Heart and Soul on it in Big?” he says.

“Nerd” Martino smiles and scoots over to make room for Niccolò at the piano. “Didn’t know you were into movies?”

“I’m not. I just know my soundtracks” he smiles, joining Martino in playing the sweet melody that was once one of his favorite childhood memories.

“This is the only one I know” Martino laughs, missing a few notes. “What’s your favorite song?”

_You’re my favorite song._

“I don’t really have favorites. But I can tell you the first one I could play by ear?” he says and Martino nods, turning a bit to look at him as he places his hands on the keys and strikes the first chord.

The melody is simple and yet it’s almost too much, as if being close to Martino is somehow giving new life to a song he could practically play with his hands tied to his back, as if he’s giving new meaning to words Niccolò sang before he knew what they even meant, and somehow it just feels right to sing them now too. Because the thought of Martino not being next to him, not kissing him, physically hurts.

“I think I know this one actually” Martino leans into him, head resting on his shoulder as Niccolò plays and sings about kissing him because that’s really all there is to say right now.

“It’s from Romeo and Juliet, right?”

“ _Kissing You_ , yes” Niccolò nods, and they’re quiet for a moment, letting the last note fade out as Martino turns and presses his lips against his, parting them slightly to let Niccolò deepen it, a hand coming up to the nape of his neck, fingers playing in his hair.

“I’m really glad you know how to play the piano” Martino smiles into the kiss.

“Yeah?” Niccolò smiles back, letting his tongue graze over Martino’s lower lip, sucking it gently in between his teeth.

“Yeah” Martino continues, sighing into the kiss before pulling back slightly “...‘cause you’re really not much of singer!” he giggles and gets up just as Niccolò tries to push him as revenge.

“Fuck you” Niccolò laughs and gets up too, chasing Martino down the hall and catching him just as they reach his room.

“You don’t like my singing huh?!” he manages to push him down onto the bed and climb on top, covering Martino’s body with his own and feeling the slight pressure of Martino’s hips against his.

“I just think your mouth has better purpose elsewhere” he laughs and Niccolò pushes himself up on his hands and lifts an eyebrow at him. Martino’s eyes widen as he realises.

“Uh oh, I- I didn’t mean-” he stutters and suddenly he seems nervous. “I just meant-”

“You know we don’t have to do anything, right?” Niccolò says and he needs Martino to know he means it. “I could kiss you for three days straight. I don’t need anything else.”

“But the condoms-”

“The condoms?!” Niccoló snorts “It was just a joke. I’m sorry if I scared you”

“I mean, we might need them _eventually_ ” Martino gazes up at him from under his lashes “if there’s like a virus outbreak and we have to stay in here forever” he blushes slightly.

_Can we? Can we stay in here forever?_

Niccolò leans down and kisses him, their bodies moving against each other with the kiss, the friction of their hips and the fabric between them as Martino grinds up against him leaving them both panting into each other’s mouths.

“Or maybe like, _tomorrow?_ ” Martino grins.

Niccolò just kisses him in response and this time it’s softer, slower. Like their lips are connecting not just their bodies but their entire _beings_. Like their hands are mapping out each other’s skin, not to claim and use it but to get to _know_ it, to memorize it. Like notes of a song they’re both trying to learn to play by ear. Fingers tracing and touching gently over a jaw, a collarbone, a shoulder, a blue and black _panther-_

“I really like your tattoo” Niccolò smiles, nosing at the fabric of his t-shirt to give himself room to bite at it gently.

“My mom doesn’t” Martino smiles, moving a hand up to roll up his sleeve a little so Niccolò can see it better. “I got it last summer. Had to wear a long sleeved t-shirt through the entire summer, including that two-week forty-two degrees heatwave.”

They laugh and it just feels good, feels _right_ in a way Niccolò can’t remember having felt before.

_Tomorrow. Forever._

 

**

It’s dark again. He’s slept less than three hours in the last two days combined but he doesn’t feel tired at all. Not when Martino’s lying there next to him looking so fucking beautiful.

He’s tracing Martino’s pinky with his own, the memory of the first time they did this coming back to him. It had felt so intense, the instant connection hitting him like a freight train and it had reminded him of a story his grandmother used to tell him about how everyone’s pinky finger is tied to an invisible red string that will lead them to another person with whom they would make history, revealing how sometimes she would tie a little red thread to his grandfather’s finger to remind him if they'd had a fight.

 _Remember,_ _Niccucciolo, the red string might get tangled, contracted or stretched, but it can never break._  

He reaches for his phone and turns it on. He had turned it off somewhere between morning kisses and grocery shopping, but he knows he has to. He opens the inbox and deletes all messages, a heavy feeling on his chest as new ones start to roll in. He opens the last one.

_I’m sick worried, Niccolò. Why are you doing this to me? It feels like I’m losing it. Who wants to be with someone who makes them feel like that? I know you’re probably gonna hate me, but I have to call your parents. You give me no choice._

He checks the time, a chill creeping up his spine and settles around his neck. She sent the text just before midnight, so he might still have time. He sighs heavily and forces himself out of bed, his head heavy and his legs even heavier, an overwhelming exhaustion claiming him and pulling him down on the chair opposite the bed, from where he can see Martino sleep peacefully.

_It might get tangled, but it can never break._

He picks up a small piece of paper from his desk and draws a tiny cartoon version of Martino where he lies snoring silently, mouth slightly open and head resting on his arm, his fingers peeking out from under his cheek. Picking up the read pen, he draws a little thread tied to his finger and traces it out to the corner of the paper. He puts the note in his pocket and with the phone pressed to his ear he walks into the living room to grab a ball of red yarn.

“Niccucciolo! I was so worried!”

“Hi mom, I’m okay. I’m on my way.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts and what you think happened those wonderful few days in the comment section <3


	4. Sold My Heart To Heal My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niccolò's POV through the week that lead up to *that*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKAM Italia really out there killing us with this f*cking hiatus huh?? *cries in any and all languages*
> 
> So uhm... sorry about the delay for those of you still following this fic lol, this one was really tough on me! And to be honest, I'm not exactly sure how much of this can even be considered canon, since we know so little about Nicco at this point, but I took some inspiration from the recent SKAMbook reveal about Even's obsession with numbers and translated it into a somewhat similar slight fixation on blue and red colors, since they seem to be a visual theme in Italia. However, this might just as well be my weird over-interpretation lol so please bear with me here <3
> 
> The title is from the song "Senses" by Birthh, that played when Martino... yeah, you know... PLEASE FIX IT ITALIA *sobs*

***

_11:31_

Niccolò can barely stand up straight. Why isn’t he here yet? He leans against the radiator behind him, the heat from the outdated, overworked appliance helplessly trying to keep the old, poorly isolated bathroom somewhat warm against falling winter temperatures, burning in his back. Why isn’t he here yet?    

_Maybe because you’re an asshole._

He looks down at his phone again just as Martino finally steps into the bathroom. It's only been a couple of days since he's seen him, since he made him breakfast and left him snoring softly in his bed, but it feels like _forever_.

“Ciao” Martino says quietly and Niccolò can sense he’s hesitant, angry even, as he pulls back slightly from Niccolò’s tentative touch to his shoulder, and it’s not like he can blame him.

The room is eerily blue Niccoló notices, _not that it matters- why is everything so goddamn blue-_ He fiddles with his pinky to soothe his wrecked nerves.

_It can get tangled but it’ll never break. Red. The thread was red._

He looks up from under his lashes, sending Martino an apologetic smile. He just needs him to smile back. Just smile.

“I wrote you a lot of texts in the last few days” Martino says curtly, and Niccolò looks down for a moment, trying to fight his mind from reminding him how many times he’s heard that one before.

“I replied…”

“When?” Martino cuts him off, arms crossed in what Niccolò recognizes as a mix of well-deserved disappointment and self protection.

 _“Why do you always push people away, Colino?”_ he recalls from Sunday.

“I told you to meet me here” _yeah well done, a fucking toilet_ “Isn’t this the most romantic place you’ve ever seen?”

Martino smiles stiffly at the joke, an awkward silence falling between them as Martino’s gaze wander the room, eyes looking at all the blue and anywhere else but back into Niccolò’s. Like he’s wondering what he’s even doing here, and Niccoló knows he deserves every bit of resentment, he just-

“I just needed to be alone” he looks down at his feet, and Martino nods like he understands.

_Not- Not like that._

“I told Maddalena about you on Sunday” he tries, his heart pounding in his chest and he notices how Martino’s jaw unclenches a bit, how his features soften slightly, and finally _finally_ for the first time since they got there, Martino looks back at him. Like, _really_ looks at him.

“We decided to take a break” he continues lowly, trying not to force anything on Martino, trying not to make it sound like he’s expecting anything from him, Maddelena’s words still burning in the back of his mind.

_“Are you even sure he’d want to be with you? if he knew-“_

He’s analyzing every detail of Martino’s facial expression, every tiny movement of his muscles as he looks down, visibly searching for words.

_I want to be with you._

“I’m sorry” Martino says quietly and Niccolò’s heart drops, and in a fraction of a second he feels everything. Like that moment when you realize you’ve missed a step, seeing in slow motion how you’re about to fall down the stairs but being able to do nothing about it. A crushing weight on his chest like a ton of bricks were just dropped there, his blood raging like a river coursing through the veins of his whole body and his head pounding like someone is using a jackhammer on it. It feels like being pulled underwater without time to take a deep breath. Like being pulled underwater without Martino.

_Of course. How could you think-_

“You’re sorry?” Niccolò repeats breathlessly, his heart still racing as he waits for Martino to excuse his way out of the fucking mess that is Niccolò Fares like everyone else. Because what else could he do?

 _“It feels like I’m losing it. Who wants to be with someone who makes them feel like that?”_ Maddalena's speech on Sunday conveniently reminds him.

“Yeah I feel like I’m the one to blame for this” Martino breathes out, a sudden wave of relief crashing over Niccolò as he realizes maybe that wasn’t what Martino had meant. Maybe there’s still a chance-

“I’m not sad at all” he smiles wide, leaning towards Martino in an attempt to put emphasis on his words.

“No?” Martino asks, his body turned slightly more towards him now and Niccolò can hear a hesitant hopefulness thread through the simple question.

_It might get tangled but it’ll never break. Red._

_“_ I want to be with you” Niccolò whispers reassuringly, like they’re words to be spoken with extra care, too important to say loudly even if he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. He reaches up to tangle fingers in that soft auburn hair, _red almost_ , and Martino melts into the touch, smiling shyly and licking his lips quickly as their eyes meet and _maybe, just maybe-_

 _“_ Don’t you wanna be with me?” Niccolò whispers, almost like he doesn’t dare asking, but really he’s got nothing to lose at this point. The thought of _this_ , of this being an actual _real_ thing, that’s all he has right now.

“I don’t know. I think so?” Martino smiles.

“Why don’t you know?” Niccolò lets go of his hair, knowing full well he needs Martino to make this decision for himself.

_“Are you sure he’d even want to be with you? If he knew-“_

Niccoló cuts off his own line of thought and even if Martino doesn’t say anything, at least he’s _looking back_ at him now. At least he’s _smiling_. And even if the room is blue and the t-shirt is blue and _why is everything so goddamn blue-_ but the thread is red. It’s still red. And Martino’s hair is red, and his lips-

“What would your parents say about this?” Niccolò breaks the silence, looking up at Martino with trembling anticipation.

“I don’t think it’d be a problem” Martino says, a slight frown on his face making Niccolò want to ask if he’s really sure. And he does. Because with Marti he can speak his mind. Be free. _Real_.

“Sure?”

“Well, my dad left us and he’s with another woman with a younger son. He doesn’t care about what I do”

And Niccolò knows it’s wrong to even think it, but what he wouldn’t _give_ to have parents who worried less about what he did all the fucking time.

“And your mom?”

Martino is quiet for a moment, like he’s gaining the strength to say something, and Niccolò knows this feeling all too well himself.

“My mom is fucking depressed” he sighs “If you ask her, she’s depressed because my dad left her. If you ask him, he left because she’s depressed” Martino sends him a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and Niccolò can _feel_ his pain. Knows how exhausting it can be to be around people like himself-

“Basically, she’ll be home all day long and she won’t do anything other than watching tv series” _or stare into blank space for three days straight, smoking_ “...complaining” Martino sighs again, looking down at his feet like he’s searching for better words there.

“If a person is not right in the head-”

 _You’re not right in the head,_ the well-known words echo in his mind.

“...then you can’t do anything about it. The only thing you can do is be with them as little as possible” Martino says with a new found confidence in his voice, and Niccolò’s breath hitches in his throat like he’s suddenly being pulled underwater again. Blue and black surrounding him, consuming him. “Otherwise you’ll end up losing it just like them”

_"...feels like I’m losing it. Who wants to be with someone who makes them feel like that?”_

“What would your parents say?” Martino continues, and he looks so soft, so happy, and maybe that’s enough? Maybe that’s all they need? _Just keep making him smile._

Niccolò pushes back his thoughts and leans in, their foreheads touching slightly and all he knows right now is he’s never felt anything like this before.

“My parents will love you”

_I will love you. If you’ll let me._

When Martino’s lips meet his it’s like all his worries are washed away. Like he’s back in that pool last week and Martino’s there with him in the water. The faint red light from the lamp up high painting the dark blue water a reddish pink. And Martino is kissing him, keeping him warm when he feels cold, keeping him safe when he feels scared. And maybe it’s enough?

And just like that night, Niccolò almost doesn’t notice the guy walking into the room interrupting them, if it wasn’t for the fact that Martino has pulled back slightly. They laugh, and it feels like a relief. He’s smiling. Martino is smiling. Maybe it’s enough?

“That was a risk, huh?” Niccolò laughs, putting an arm around Martino and kissing his cheek.

“Who fucking cares?” Martino smiles back.

And maybe it really _is_ enough?

 

**

 

 **Elio (15:36)**  

I’m with a friend and I’m taking photos with him at this incredible place. If you don’t have anything to do, we could meet later

 

_Is it red there?_

It’s night again. Or is it? Niccolò’s pretty sure it was dark at some point, but now he’s not so sure. All he knows is he can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper night’s sleep. _Not that it matters._ He just can’t seem to separate the blue from the black, and even if he’s holding the red thread from the last time he was there with Martino in his hand, playing with it between his trembling fingers, Maddalena’s words are still running on repeat in the back of his mind, like sharp objects ready to cut through his skin. Mixing with Martino’s words, cutting them up too, corrupting them. And he knows it’s just his brain testing him, taunting him, cross-comparing and creating patterns where there are none, just like with the colours-

_“Are you even sure he’d want to be with you? If he knew-“_

_“I’m in love with him.”_

_“How can you be sure?”_

_“I am! And he’s in love with me too, I know it!”_

_“But is it really enough, Colino?”_

_It will be._

_“Are you starting to notice colours again?”_

_Yes._

_“No.”_

Niccolò picks up the blue t-shirt Martino had borrowed and brings it to his face, _blue,_ the faint scent of him still lingering there. And Niccolò wants to believe that it can be enough. That _he_ can be enough. But the words are coming at him like razor blades, trying to take it away from him, again and again.

_“It feels like I’m losing it, Colino”_

_“...you’ll end up losing it, just like them”_

_Lose it. Lose._

And suddenly he feels selfish, feels guilty. Guilty for dragging Martino through all of this. Guilty for not telling him the truth, not giving him the choice. The chance to choose something better. Selfish for believing he could ever deserve love. And that’s when he realizes there’s _one_ good thing about being the last man on Earth.

_You can’t hurt anyone._

**(15:47)**

As for later, I don’t know to be honest… Maybe things are going too fast. I know it’s my fault, but I need some time. Sorry.

 

 

**

 

Something doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right, to be honest. _Everything’s so goddamn blue._ But Niccolò laughs and plays along on someone’s joke. Someone he doesn’t really remember, doesn’t really know, and follows that same someone down the stairs and out into the sweaty mass of bodies pressed together, bathed in blue. Because that’s what you do.

_Why the fuck did he go to this party in the first place?_

It’s an honest relief to see the familiar face of Maddi there, even if she was the last person he was hoping to see. Even if he was hoping to see someone else. A particular someone. But he’s not there.

_Of course he isn’t._

“Colino! Come join us!” Maddelena smiles as they squeeze up a bit to make room for him in the seat next to her. “I’m so happy to see you’re feeling better!” she puts an arm around him and kisses him in a greeting just as familiar. Except it isn’t.

He pulls back slightly and wiggles his shoulders in an awkward attempt at dancing while sitting, in an awkward attempt at replacing that greeting kiss with something else. Anything.

_Just keep smiling._

And he does. Smiles, until it feels like he’s about to fall down stairs. Until it feels like there’s a crushing weight on his chest and his blood is raging like a river coursing through his body. Until his head is pounding like someone is using a jackhammer on it and it feels like he’s being pulled down into the blue, without any red in sight. Until suddenly, Niccolò just _has_ to get out of there. Out past the weird bearded bouncer and the line of excited guests waiting in an anticipation he can’t relate to, past the small square there and out through the gates, blue lights and blue walls wherever he looks. Until finally he finds a place to breathe.

Large cans of trash knocked over. Litter, pipes and other construction waste strewn all over the place, and if Niccolò didn’t know better he would think someone else had been there before him, taking out their frustrations on the world around them, just like him. Trying to catch their breath to the rumbling sounds and restless vibrations of trains passing behind them, just like him.

If Niccolò didn't know better, he might think that maybe he isn't actually alone. That _maybe_ , he doesn't have to be.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and please don't hesitate to share your thoughts in the comments below <3
> 
> Also I should mention, since I'm not Italian myself, I'm relying completely on subs here and since I've seen there are different versions of them out there, I might get things wrong occasionally. If you do find some quote are completely off and need correction, please let me know <3


	5. Blue Giraffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ni makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jfc this week HURT SO GOOOOD!!  
> I know we all can't wait for next Friday to hAPPEN, but first here's some Nicco POV at that fateful radio meeting.  
> Hope you enjoy <3

***

 

**Sana Banana (15:15)**

He’s at school today

 

**(15:16)**

He is?? Did he say anything?

 

**Sana Banana (15:16)**

No.

 

**(15:16)**

Is he coming on Wednesday?

 

**Sana Banana (15:18)**

How would I know? I don’t read minds, Fares.

 

**(15:18)**

You could ask him, maybe? I just want to know how he’s doing.

 

**Sana Banana (15:20)**

I have a secret trick to tell how someone is doing

 

**(15:20)**

Yes???

 

**Sana Banana (15:21)**

ASKING THEM

 

**(15:22)**

OKAY \o/

 

**Sana Banana (15:24)**

Is that supposed to be an emoji? I can’t believe you still have that brick of a phone. I’m guessing you haven’t changed my caller ID on that old thing either ugh

 

**(15:25)**

<3

 

**Sana Banana (15:33)**

He’s coming on Wednesday.

Go talk to him. His sad face isn’t flattering.

 

***

 

“Have you seen Martino today?” Niccolò asks some girl he faintly recognizes, hair slightly more red than Martino’s. He just stepped into the general assembly room, or _carrot cake room_ as he likes to call it in his mind.

“He’s in the radio room with Sana. You can listen here” she smiles warmly and turns up the volume, Sana’s well-known voice pouring out like a waterfall and he can’t help but smile at how bossy she sounds and how fitting it is to have her hosting a radio show about powerful women.

“Next week we’ll come back with an episode about… _Martino_?” she sighs and Niccolò holds his breath, like he’s afraid letting out just a tiny bit of air would drown out his voice.

“About Eva Peròn” Martino’s warm voice flows out of the speakers and knocks the air right out of him. It’s like taking a punch to the gut, and Niccolò can feel tears burn behind his eyes.

_Guess this is it._

Taking a deep breath, he gathers all his strength and gets up, slowly stepping out into the dark hallway almost crashing into Sana who’s already out of the radio room, now glaring at him, arms crossed and brows raised.

“Fares. What a nice surprise to see _you_ here” she scowls in that way she only does with people she cares about. Shaking her head at him silently, she points him in the direction of the radio room with a firm nod as if to tell him there’s no way he’s backing out now.

 _"Thanks_ ” he mouths at her and she smiles back unamused.

Slowly, he moves further down the hall towards the radio room, side pressed up against the wall almost like he’s trying to blend in with it, almost like he’s trying to hide.

 _Martino_.

Niccolò stops in his tracks, feeling the air knocked out of him all over again. Martino’s standing right there at the end of the hall, occupied with the board in front of him and _how_ _is it even allowed to look this beautiful?_  He steps closer.

“Ciao” Niccolò comes up from behind him, his voice barely making it, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes again.

Martino freezes slightly and turns around. “Ciao” he says quietly and Niccolò’s heart breaks.

_Come on, get it together._

“How are you?” his voice cracks, and all he wants to do is close the distance between them, pull Martino close and never let him go. They’re merely inches apart but in this moment, it feels like light years.

“I’m fine, you?” Martino replies quietly, barely looking back at him and Niccolò can tell he’s sad too.

_I miss you so much it hurts._

“Same” he smiles hesitantly but Martino doesn’t smile back, and maybe he shouldn’t have come here, maybe he should have just stayed away, but he can’t. He just _can’t._

_Please smile. I miss your smile so much._

“Did you know they fixed the gate’s bars on the rooftop? Way to many people went there to smoke joints” he jokes but Martino still doesn’t smile.

“But obviously I found a way to go there again”

_Will you go there with me? Please-_

A silence falls between them, and Niccolò is back to holding his breath again, feels his heart racing in his chest.

_Can we? Go back, start over? Deserters of the-_

“I have to go now, sorry”

Niccolò just stands there, frozen to the spot. And while it’s perfectly reasonable for Martino to leave him there, he knows in his heart it’s not _right_ . It’s not what Martino _wants_. He could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. The same longing he sees and hears in his own.

He looks up at the board in front of him, at Martino’s name in handwriting. At the cartoonish cat someone drew on there, finding some sort of relief in the fact that they’d painted its eyes a deep red.

His gaze wanders a bit, smiling when he recognizes Dr. Spera’s card hanging on the board, the weird school psychologist his mom had made him visit before the summer holiday to prepare his school transfer _just in case._

 _“My mom made me come here”_ he had sighed, when Spera asked him what he could do for him. “ _Honestly, I don’t think she believes I can do it.”_

 _“Tell me, what’s your favorite animal Niccolò?”_ Spera had interrupted, not giving him time to reply before continuing. _“Mine is the giraffe! Did you know today is World Giraffe Day? It’s true, the 21st of June, you can look it up!”_ a warm bubbly laughter spilling from his mouth, warm eyes gazing back at him before wandering off around the room. “ _Ahh Giraffa camelopardalis. Did you know it got that name because the ancient Greeks thought it looked like a camel dressing up as a leopard?”_ and Niccolò had probably looked about as confused as he felt.

“ _The point is, Niccolò, many people think the giraffe can’t run because it’s legs are too long. But in fact, the giraffe is quite the athlete. 56 kilometers per hour. 56, Niccolò”_ he’d raised a pointed finger at him. _“You understand?”_

 _“No?”_ he remembers specifically _not_ understanding what the guy was trying to say.

 _“I think you do”_ he’d just said before showing Niccolò out the door with what he had later learned was a printed copy of Chicco Rodi’s complete guide on how to get into the school at night. Because like him, he doesn't own a smartphone.

He smiles at the memory.

 

***

 

It’s dark again. The dim light of his bedside lamp not powerful enough to light up even half the room. He can’t sleep but what else is new? The dark sky outside is too blue, and the bed’s too big. The room’s too quiet, and-

_Martino isn’t there._

He sits up suddenly, rummaging around in his bedside table drawer for the pen and the stack of post its he keeps there, _just in case_. Deliberately avoiding the blue one that came with the others, he picks a yellow one and starts writing.

Can we talk? I broke up with Maddale- _so what, asshole_

I’m sorry. I want to be with- _yeah_ _what happened the last time you said that_

There’s something I have to tell y- _ha! good luck with that one_

Niccolò throws the stack of post its on the floor and sighs heavily, gazing out into nothing. He tilts his head back against the wall and turns to look down at the pillow next to him. The pillow Martino had tucked under his head in what felt like ages ago now. He picks it up and brings it to his face, inhaling deeply, but the scent is long gone. Of course it is.

He thinks back to that morning they had spend in bed together, back to their talk about everything and nothing, about being the last men on Earth and riding a giraffe together into the sunset. Thinks back to how safe he had felt telling Martino about everything. His hopes and dreams. His fears. How it had felt like he could face any fear as long as Martino was right there next to him.

Letting go of the pillow, he reaches back down into the drawer, the blue unused stack of post its staring back like it’s mocking him and then he makes a decision. The decision that with Martino, he could at least try and face his fears. One at a time.

He picks up the blue stack of post its and the pen and starts drawing and he doesn’t stop until the dawning daylight starts filling the room and the first rays of sunshine stream in through his window. Then, he picks up his phone and types.

 

**(06.47)**

Allagui?

 

**Sana Banana (06:48)**

Fares. *sigh*

 

**(06:48)**

I need another favor.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and please don't hesitate to share your thoughts below!  
> Vi amo <3


	6. Momentary Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niccolò comes to the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. I'm so sorry I'm late guys!! And thank you for all the sweet encouragement I've been getting here and on (RIP porn-free) tumblr <3  
> It's been quite a week, and I've just been post-con emotionally drained lol. But I loved writing this, so I really hope you'll enjoy my take on Nicco's POV in the cabin scene. I'll try to catch up with canon asap!
> 
> The title is from 'Myth' by Beach House, the song that played in this particular scene and GAAWDDD I absolutely adore this song! Listened to it the entire time writing and highly recommend listening to it while reading too (or just listening to it general lol).

***

 

It’s been two days. _Two_ days and nothing has happened.

Well technically, it had been  _eight_ days since Niccolò first made Sana sneak that stack of blue post it's into Martino's bag, but then he'd chickened out, needing another six days to gather the courage to approach Martino again. This time with a tiny bottle of dyed blue water, that he smuggled into the spine of Martino’s dictionary. Because apparently, _extra_ is his middle name.

And now, two days and still nothing. No texts, no calls. No smiles. And he feels like an idiot for even _thinking_ Martino would still be interested. For allowing himself to dream Martino could ever be _his_.

Still, he can’t help but _hope_ when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Hope, that _this_ time it’s Martino and not some nagging text from his mom or Maddalena. He pulls out his phone and it’s like taking a punch to the gut.

 

**Elio (10:01)**

I’m glad to know you miss me but I don’t date people who are already involved with someone else. Ciao.

 

For a moment, Niccolò freezes completely, reading it over and over again. _I’m glad to know you miss me. Ciao._ Niccolò can’t decipher exactly what it means, but it doesn’t matter right now. He just has to do _something_. Has to at least _try_.

 

**(10:01)**

What are you doing now? Can we meet?

 

 

One minute passes. Then two. He knows two minutes isn’t long but it feels like forever and Niccolò has to fight the urge to text him again, to call him, knows he can’t do anything but wait for Martino to reply back. For a moment he wonders if he has to suffer through another two-to-eight days of waiting.

_Yeah well now you know what that feels like, asshole._

 

**Elio (10:03)**

I’m in Bracciano.

 

He reads the text out loud twice. A question, _an invitation?_ maybe reading more into it than he should and he’s never packed a bag faster in his entire life, throwing things in there he’s not even sure what are for. But he doesn’t care. He’s going to Bracciano right this instant, and nothing is going to stop him, not even his mom who he’s pretty sure is going to kill him for taking the car without asking, for speeding like he’s in a fucking car chase, but all he can think about right now is to reach Martino. Tell him that he’s sorry. Ask him if they can turn back time and _maybe_ get to hold his hand again.

Not until he reaches Bracciano does he realize he doesn’t actually have the address. For a moment he considers just driving around calling out his name, the desperate need to find Martino apparently overruling any common sense left in his brain.

He picks up his phone though, surprised he even manages to call Martino with how much his hands are shaking. He can’t quite tell if it’s from the rush of adrenaline or anxiety, probably both, and when he finally hears Martino’s voice something bursts inside him.

“Hello?”

“Marti! I’m here! You weren’t- and I just _couldn’t-_ and then you- and _fuck_ but I’m here now. I’m _here!_ ”

“What are you even saying?” Martino sounds surprised, and Niccolò can’t tell for sure if he’s happy or just confused.

“I’m here! In Bracciano! Where are you? Can we talk? Are you alone?”

_Breathe goddammit._

“No, I’m here with my friends”

_Of course._

“Oh okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- I’m just gonna-“

“Wait, wait, wait. I’m gonna call you back in two minutes. Okay?”

He waits. Soon realizing that waiting two days for Martino to reply was a piece of cake compared to these two _minutes._ He has to physically get himself out of the car and walk back and forth impatiently as if trying to figure out the solution to a mystery that isn’t his to solve.

 

**

Niccolò can barely remember how he got from the small city center to the cabin, but he’s here now and if only his legs weren’t shaking so much and his heart wasn’t pounding so hard in his chest, he might actually have been able to appreciate the view of the lake and the blinking lights strewn across the shoreside. He might even have been able to enjoy the calm silence here far out of the city, only interrupted by the occasional rustle of wind in the trees and the quiet chirping of birds, but in this moment all he can hear is Martino’s voice echoing in his mind as he makes his way from the car towards the soft flickering light streaming from the windows of the small cabin, having to consciously instruct his legs to put one foot in front of the other.

_Just talk to him. Just say you’re sorry. Explain. Just tell him he’s the first person to really see you. That you were scared. Tell him he’s the only person you really trust. Just tell him you need him. Just-_

When Martino opens the door it feels like that virus they’ve joking about finally kicks in and everything else in the world disappears, taking Niccolò’s breath with it.

_Just breathe._

“Ciao” Niccolò manages as he steps inside, realizing to his surprise that Martino is in fact alone in the cabin.

“Your friends?” he asks curiously, wondering for a moment if Martino had made the whole thing up as an excuse, slightly relieved when he spots the four half empty glasses of wine on the coffee table.

“They went out” Martino replies quietly and for a moment they just stand there, eyes locked on each other and it’s like Niccolò has to remind his legs how to stand up straight, like all the words he planned on saying are stuck in his throat.

The red glow from the fireplace is playing in Martino’s auburn hair, matching the burning heat in Niccolò’s chest and he can’t keep his eyes from wandering to Martino’s mouth and feels Martino’s do the same. Their eyes meet again, this time more careful, more questioning, and all he wants right now is to pull him in, tell Martino that this is where he belongs. The _he_ is the only antidote Niccolò needs. It feels like he’s free falling, adrenaline pumping through his veins, threatening to tear him to pieces. Gravity barely holding him together but still pulling every single atom in his body towards Martino.

Martino moves first though, taking a step forward to close the gap between them, their lips finally connecting in a kiss so full of longing that Niccolò can feel it in his _toes_. Like the pure bliss of coming up for air after a dive in the deep blue, and Niccolò can’t get enough.

He wants to memorize it all. The warm and cool coming together as Martino’s hands cup his face gently and his own hands reach up to pull Martino closer. The soft, firm pressure of Martino’s plump lips against his and the jolt of electricity running through his body as Martino’s tongue brushes over his lower lip to deepen the kiss. The feeling of completeness when Niccolò finally parts his own lips and allows himself to receive what Martino is offering.

He wants to remember _everything_. The slow movements of their bodies as Martino slowly guides them down the hall, lips only breaking apart to heave for air to breathe before diving back into the pleasure of each others mouths and breathless gasps. The pressure of his body against Martino’s as he leans against the wall and pulls Niccolò in to cover him in heat and kisses. But more than anything, he wants to remember the look in Martino’s eyes when they break apart momentarily, the way he can tell Martino really _sees_ him, the way they really see each other, eyes searching, asking, _is this okay? Are we okay?_

And yes, they probably should be talking right now instead, probably should clear the air weighing heavy around them, but somehow he enjoys the weight of it all, the gravitational pull between them and Niccolò can’t bring himself to care about anything else right now than how desperately he needs to make Martino feel good. How much he wants to make him _smile_.

_Just make him smile._

He’s not even sure how their clothes ended up on the floor, but he can feel Martino’s naked chest firmly against his own and the warmth of his skin as he pulls Niccolò closer yet again. Suddenly realizing how much he needs to _taste_ it, he lets his mouth wander down over Martino’s jaw to his neck, his lips and tongue pressing into Martino’s pulse point and he can feel Martino lean into it too, pull at him, the soft grind of Martino’s hips bucking up against his  driving him wild and bringing him to his knees, in _every_ sense of the word.

Niccolò pauses for a moment, gazing up at Martino from under his lashes, wanting to make sure he’s still with him. That this is okay.

_Is this okay?_

Martino smiles down at him in response. A warm curious smile, almost like he’s in awe, and it’s every answer Niccolò needs. It’s everything he’s ever needed.

He feels Martino sigh deeply when he finally takes him into his mouth, trembling fingers coming down to twist in his hair and Niccolò could do this forever, the tantalizing taste of Martino only surpassed by the sounds spilling from his mouth as Niccolò takes him deeper into his mouth, sucking and licking more deliberately. He feels Martino’s thighs shaking slightly and his hips push back against the wall, like he’s trying to fight back the urge to thrust, like he’s struggling to even stay upright.

Niccolò steals a glance up at him and the smile never leaving Martino’s lips, only now accompanied by a slight frown that deepens with the speeding of his breath and the increasing tension in his muscles and Niccolò can’t think of a sight more beautiful than this.

When Martino comes, it’s like the world stops spinning for a moment. Niccolò just wants to take it all in and he can’t decide what he loves most. The thrilling sensation of Martino’s fingers curling tightly in his hair as all his muscles tense, almost like they’re trying to hold onto the feeling, to savour it. Or the gorgeous sight of Martino’s mouth falling open, his breath hitching in his throat as he lets out a quiet moan reminiscent of a whisper. Or the sweet taste exploding on his tongue, filling him with an instant need for more and a certainty that this moment will forever remain something special.

Martino pulls him up on his feet to kiss him deeply and he doesn’t seem bothered at all by the taste of himself still lingering there, hand coming down to where Niccolò’s already wrapped firmly around himself, strokes quickening with the urgent need to be close, to bask in the afterglow together. Letting Martino take over, Niccolò braces himself up against the wall, their foreheads coming together and their mouths breathing into each other because they’re too excited to kiss properly and Niccolò finally lets go.

Lets himself fall into the deep blue and the burning red to a place where colors have no meaning, knowing that Martino is right there with him. Trusting that even if he can’t prevent the fall, at least Martino is there to catch him.

 

**

It’s pitch black in the room and it’s been hours since they moved to the bed, giggling and laughing and teasing each other for coming so _goddamn fast_ , curling up against each other and cuddling like they had never been apart.

It’s been hours since Niccolò heard the boys return from the bar, hours since he pretended to be sleeping as he watched with one eye open the silhouette of a familiar broad frame and a curly head of hair tiptoe across the room to pick up what had looked like a sleeping bag, silently closing the door behind him without as much as one snooping glance at them, and Niccolò can’t help but feel grateful for all the love and acceptance that clearly surrounds Martino.

A love and acceptance that he himself had been craving for so long, seeking to such an extend that he had forgotten to really listen to himself. A love and acceptance that he knows he has to find in himself first before he’ll be able to receive it from others.

_But at least he’s here now and that has to count for something._

Martino’s slow, steady breathing and the heat and pressure of his sleep-warm body half on top of him is calming, grounding even, and for the first time in a long time Niccolò makes the conscious decision to close his eyes. To let sleep take over. Knowing that Martino is right here with him. Trusting that he will be here tomorrow too.    

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you excited for tomorrow???? And the few weeks we have left?? I can't believe it's all gonna be over soon! *cries in italian*


	7. Mamma Didn’t Mean to Make You Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicco's POV in the scene with his mom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this past week's been rough, huh?! Things are finally starting to lighten up, and I'm so fucking excited for Friday!
> 
> So I wanted to get this chapter out asap and hopefully I'll be able to post the next (*that* scene) before or early on Friday.  
> This was a tough one to write, especially with the new information we got about Niccolò. While I have personal experience with bipolar disorder, my knowledge of BPD is very limited, so in addition to reading more about it to understand Niccolò better, I have consulted people who are much more knowledgeable than me. Thank you so much IrisS and S for beta'ing and for offering incredible insights into mamma's perspective here. I love you guys <3 If you have questions or concerns about my take on this, please don't hesitate to reach out in the comments or on tumblr <3 I should say too, that this hasn't changed the way I see and write Niccolò at all, and this particular scene in many ways played out the way I initially imagined it after the clip last Wednesday, but I've learned a lot more about him and love him all the more because of it.
> 
> Title is from Bohemian Rhapsody because MY GOD THAT MOVIE *sobs* and because thinking about those lyrics while writing this nearly broke me so
> 
> Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and please let me know what you think <3

***

“Nicco, are you home?”

_Finally. Finally she gets to meet him._

They’ve been lying on the bed most of the afternoon, kissing and talking and _dreaming_ about places to go together, sights to see together, and it wasn’t until minutes ago that Niccolò had reluctantly agreed to let go of Martino and let him sit by the desk to _actually_ do his homework, which is probably for the better considering how much his mom has been nagging him about that too lately.

“It’s my mom. I’m so happy you two can meet!” he smiles and gets up from the bed, his heart swelling with excitement.

Sure enough, his mom had been pretty mad about the car when he arrived back home from the cabin, which honestly shouldn’t have been such a surprise if the thirteen missed calls was anything to go by.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling through the entire telling-off, thinking about that morning in the cabin, _about_ _that night too_ , and how happy Martino had looked sitting across from him all squished up between his friends in the small booth at the single decent cafe in Trevignano that was open out of season. How beautiful he had looked laughing and joking and _beaming_ when Gio, whose opinion clearly mattered the most to him, had squeezed his knee and nodded at him approvingly.

How Martino had stolen glances at him every once in a while, because Niccolò can still feel it in his heart every time Martino looks at him.

He could feel that Martino was _proud_ to be his boyfriend, a feeling Niccolò still can’t quite wrap his head around. Especially since he can’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him with pride in their eyes.

“Mamma, this is Martino” he smiles widely as she steps in through the doorway.

“I’m Martino, nice to meet you” Martino extends his hand to her and Niccolò can tell he’s nervous.

“The pleasure is mine. I’m Anna” she takes his hand and sends him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Can you come with me one second? I need to talk to you” she shoots a glance at Niccolò and turns her back to them and Niccolò can already feel the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, the blood rushing through his body in a mix of anxiety and building anger. Anger that she didn’t even have the decency to at least _try_ to be polite to Martino.

He comes up with some lame excuse about budget cuts that no one buys and follows her to the kitchen, leaving Martino to wait in his room and he’s already hating this.

“What’s the problem?!” he asks, jaw clenching tightly.

“The problem is that Maddalena is always right-” she slams the door shut behind them, a deep frown on her face that matches the way she crosses her arms in front of her.

“Maddalena is a bitch! Stop bringing her into this-” Niccolò shouts back at her probably a little too loud, a burning flush of anger spreading up his neck to his ears.

“I’m worried, Nicco! All I’m asking is that you study-“

_Here we go again._

“I _am_ studying!” he throws his hands up in frustration and she pulls back slightly, and he _hates_ when she does this. Hates how she sometimes makes him feel like he’s something to be afraid of, something to be _managed_.

“Every day?!” she adds in a tone that Niccolò can’t interpret as anything but sarcasm and _there it is,_ that look of disappointment in her eyes that Niccolò knows so well by now, and he can’t _take_ it anymore, fists clenched hard together.

“What do you want from me, mamma? Come _on!_ ” he pulls himself out of the room, away from her.

“I want him to go home and for you to study!” she shouts after him as he moves across the room towards Martino, feeling tears pressing behind his eyes and his bottom lip quivering, but not because he’s sad. He’s fucking _pissed_ . Pissed that she would do this right now. Pissed that she would do this to _Martino_.

“Looks like Marisol found my weed so… it’s kind of a mess” Niccolò says, voice trembling with the effort of holding back the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks _just smile_ and he tries, but it hurts and he’s sure Martino can see straight through all of it.

_I’m so sorry_

“Maybe it’s better if I see you tomorrow?” he says, not sure how he’s even bringing his mouth to speak words that hurt this much, and he can tell Martino is hurt too.

“Okay” he nods and turns his back to pick up his things from the desk.

_I hate myself for bringing you in this situation_

“I’m sorry for kicking you out” he says instead.

“Don’t worry about it” Martino replies quietly.

_When I’m this mad-_

“When she’s this mad… _it’s like fire_  it’s better to avoid any- _gasoline”_ he stops himself “Where’s your coat?”

“It’s in the other room” Martino says, stepping out of the room and grabbing his coat where they left it earlier, too busy making out to keep their clothes on until they got to his room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Martino turns in the doorway and smiles hesitantly, and Niccolò just wants to pull him in, just wants to hug him until the pain goes away _but she’s watching_ and he can sense Martino wants to get himself out of this situation as fast as possible. It’s not like he can blame him.

“Mhm” he nods and smiles, biting his lip and blinking away tears he hopes Martino doesn’t notice before closing the door behind him.

“Niccuciolo-“

“Don’t call me that! I’m not a _child!_ ”

He stomps right past her, slamming the door shut to his room but she doesn’t give up easily, that much he knows and soon he finds her back in his room, hovering over him like a hawk, spewing words at him he can barely hear over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

“I don’t know why you keep doing this to yourself sweetheart” she strokes his back and he pulls away in response, getting up again to move past her in long strides. “I don’t think these boys-“

“ _These_ boys?!” he turns around and yells at her. “ _These_ boys?! There’s no _these boys!_ There’s only _this_ boy. Only _Martino!_ ” he shoots at her, feeling his heart race in his chest and his fingers prickle with anger. With the need to _throw_ something.

“You just took the car and left, Nicco. Without a word! What am I supposed to think-“

“Car?! Is this about the fucking _car_ again?!”

“You _know_ it’s not about the car-”

He leaves her and moves towards the piano in the living room, the only remotely reasonable way he knows to let out some steam and he starts hammering on the thing in something reminiscent of a mix between Beethoven’s 5th and Bohemian Rhapsody although he can’t be bothered to actually hit the correct notes.

She follows him into the room and starts talking at him, words pouring out of her mouth, each one adding to the tears streaming down her face but he can’t hear them. All he hears is his brain telling him he’s _selfish_ and _childish_ and _out of control_ as he keeps smashing the keys until there's nothing else left, until she leaves, until everything else is quiet and empty. The room. The apartment. His brain. His heart.

 

 

**(19:32)**

_please don’t leave me_

sorry again for earlier

 

**Elio del mio <3 (19:35)**

don’t worry! I understood what was happening

 

**(19:35)**

_I hate myself right now_

I can’t stand her these days

 

**Elio del mio <3 (19:36)**

I know how you feel :)

 

**(19:36)**

_but I love you_

I wanna sleep next to you

 

**Elio del mio <3 (19:37)**

Me too <3

 

**(19:37)**

how can we do that?

 

**Elio del mio <3 (19:40)**

my mum won’t be here next week and you can basically move in here ;)

 

**(19:41)**

Next week is too far away!

 

**Elio del mio <3 (19:41)**

So hard to please :)

 

_thank you for putting up with me_


	8. When I Put My Lips on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicco's POV through his and Martino's night together in Milan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaayyy so, SORRY if anyone was actually waiting for this to update before Friday, I just couldn't finish this without knowing that our boys were okay! *rolls eyes hard at herself* But here it is, finally, and I really hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> Also, it's my very first attempt at M-rated smut, I mean HOW. DOES. ONE. DO. THIS??!! LOL. I should add that I'm by no means claiming that this is the *true* way things went down on that fateful night, there's an infinite amount of possibilities as we all know, so this is just how I imagine it <3
> 
> Anywaaaaysss, I'll resume my sobbing over the last couple of clips and leave you to it. Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think in the comments or on tumblr, I'm always open for suggestions!
> 
> Title is from Maroon 5's 'Lips on You' which I've been listening to pretty much on repeat since that clip *flamme emoji flamme emoji flamme emoji*
> 
> Vi amo <3

 

***

Marti is sleeping, and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing Niccolò has ever seen, he doesn’t know _what_ is.

Martino’s sitting across from him in the red faux leather seat, his cheek squished up against the glass looking so adorable and Niccolò just can’t stop watching him. They’re the last ones in the carriage, maybe even the last ones on the train.

They could be the last ones on _Earth,_ for all he cares.

To be honest, he even surprised himself with this idea, and _yes_ a six-hour-return train trip can’t exactly be considered a _casual_ date, but he just really needed to get away, needed to be alone with Martino. Needed to remind himself of what it true. What is real.

_Fucking Maddalena._

She had tried to tell him it was nothing. Tried to convince him that this was just some silly idea stuck in his head, like so many times before. That it wasn’t real.

But there’s nothing more _real_ than watching Martino sleep like this, the cool winter sun filtered through the trees outside and streaming in through the window in tiny beams, playing in Martino’s amber hair and on his pale skin, making him look like an actual angel. Soft and strong and everything Niccolò’s ever needed, and he has to stop himself from reaching out and waking him up just to make sure it isn’t just a dream. Just to assure himself that no one is going to take Martino away from him.

“We’re here baby” Niccolò whispers a little over an hour later, caressing Martino’s cheek and running a hand through his hair and Martino opens his eyes, the sleepy frown on his face replaced by a soft smile as he recognizes Niccolò and remembers where they are and why they are here, and Niccolò’s heart is about to burst right out of his chest.

 

***

The cafe itself would have been worth the entire train ride alone. The kitsch green tables and the pinkish red terrazzo floor, not to mention the retro pinball machines by the wall. He had been like a kid in a candy store and Martino had watched with amused patience as Niccolò studied the vaulted glass ceiling of Galleria Vittorio Emanuele as it was recreated by the patterned wallpaper at Bar Luce, had listened with interest as Niccolò had cross-questioned the poor waiter about every little detail in the bar, explaining to Martino with great enthusiasm about the inspiration drawn from the 50’s and 60’s and especially movies like _Miracle of Milan_ and _Rocco and His Brothers_ , the latter spurring yet another rant about Niccolò’s favorite movie soundtracks and about how many of them were composed by the very same Nino Rota, including Godfather and several of his favorite Federico Fellini films.

Spending the day there was everything Niccolò could have ever dreamed of and still, he would trade it all for that one kiss Martino just planted on his lips outside in the setting sun, his soft expectant smile and the assurance in his touch when Niccolò took his hand to lead him to the place he’d booked for the night.

“Is it your first time in Milan?” the woman smiles, leading them out onto the balcony overlooking the skyline of Milan.

“Yeah, it is for me” Martino smiles.

“No, I’ve already been here twice.” Niccolò responds, quickly changing the subject. “But more importantly, is this _your_ house?”

“Oh, I wish!” she laughs “No, I only do the reception for an agency” she explains, telling them about the clearly wealthy designer couple who owns the apartment but barely ever uses it themselves.

“I adore Milan.” Niccolò smiles “I’ll certainly come to live here.”

“Oh yes?” Martino smiles, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yes. And when I say ‘here’, I mean _here_ in this specific house. You don’t know it yet, but I’m already negotiating with the two designers” he laughs “Would you come here?”

“Yes, sure” Martino says quietly.

“He’s my boyfriend” Niccolò smiles to the woman and nods at Martino “Isn’t he hot?” and even in the dark he can tell Martino is blushing.

“Yeah, yeah you look very good together” she smiles, clearly a bit taken aback by how straight forward he is, but he just can’t bring himself to care about etiquette now that he finally gets to call Martino his _boyfriend_ . If he could he would yell it out at the top of his lungs from this very balcony, _no scratch that_ , from _every single_ balcony in the country.  

_We really are deserters you and I, aren’t we?_

He’s not sure how or when the woman left, all he knows is that Martino is kissing him, and for a moment he’s brought back to _that_ balcony. Their _first_ one. It feels like a lifetime ago now, and oh how he wishes he would have just kissed Martino right there and then.

“You’re freezing!” Martino smiles into the kiss, but Niccolò feels so warm that he couldn’t feel the cold if he _tried_ to.

“I have a surprise for you” he smiles and guides Martino into the dark living room and steps back out into the hall himself, excited to show him the single most important reason why he booked _this_ particular apartment.

He turns on the switch, the red light from the neon sign on the wall burning warm and clear, shrouding the room in an almost ethereal light and somehow the air suddenly feels heavy with anticipation, almost like the tension is liquifying around them and Niccolò can barely breathe with how _right_ it feels. How _ready_ he is.

He’s wanted to share this with Martino so long, wanted to give this to him in what feels like forever and now they’re finally _here_.

“What do you think it says?” he asks, nodding at the bright red neon sign.

“H-How…” Martino tries, looking up at the sign as Niccolò steps closer.

“No, no, that’s an M” Niccolò points at the wall “It says ‘Marti’... ‘Nicco’”

“That’s not true” Martino laughs, shaking his head.

“Marti.. Nicco” Niccolò repeats, stepping even closer to him and Martino turns his head towards him, locking eyes with him for a moment, and he can think of no other place more perfect than this.

When their lips finally connect it’s like the last piece of a puzzle he didn’t know he was putting together falls into place. It’s like everything calms down and all he feels is Martino’s heartbeat on his lips, on his fingertips.

Everything else disappears and Niccolò just wants to lose himself in it all. In the red light and the heat, in the touch, the want. In the love he feels on his skin, in his chest, in his _toes_.

Taking a deep breath, he lets himself do exactly that. Dive head first into all the red and follow Martino, down onto the couch, into the deep, where there’s only skin and lips and tongues and sighs and shivers as he maps out a trail down Martino’s body, a trail that has Martino trembling under him until he finally wraps his lips around him and pushes forward until his nose is buried in coarse hair, breathing in the scent he knows so well by now, the tell tale stutter of Martino’s hips vibrating through his entire body.

_Don’t come yet, baby._

He does, and it’s okay. Because they’re here now and they have all time in the world. Everything else is wiped out by that virus and there’s no one else, no Maddalena, no mamma, no one to tell them what to do, what is right and what is wrong.

“Fuck, you’re good at that” Martino sighs, still struggling to catch his breath, a big smile breaking out on his lips as he reaches over to unbutton Niccolò’s jeans.

“Wait” Niccolò whispers and catches his hand, lacing their fingers together and pressing down over the outside of his jeans, making sure Martino can feel how hard he is.

He turns his head a bit to be able to look at Martino “I want to wait-“ he licks his lip and takes a deep breath, like he’s building up the courage to actually say it  “...until you’re ready again.”

He guides both their hands further down and spreads his legs slightly to give more room, pressing Martino’s hand up against himself to make sure there’s no doubt what he means and he can feel Martino swallow hard next to him.

“Is that okay?” he asks quietly and Martino swallows again and nods hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Yeah. Yes” Martino smiles. “I’m sorry, I should have held back- I was just- it’s just your mouth is _so_ -“

“Hey” Niccolò lifts his hand to cup Martino’s face, locking eyes with him. “Don’t apologize, you hear me?” he kisses him softly and Martino smiles into the kiss.

“My mouth likes you too, in fact you’re one of it’s very _favorite_ things” he grins and Martino smiles and rolls his eyes at him.

“I just really want to feel you… everywhere” Niccolò whispers and Martino inhales sharply. “I mean, only if you want to?”

“I do. I want to. I want to.”

“So eager” Niccolò laughs teasingly, and Martino punches his shoulder. “Fuck you”

“Please” he replies, playfully but Martino doesn’t laugh this time. Instead he grabs Niccolò’s hand and traces it down his own chest and over his abs and further down to where Niccolò’s mouth had been just moments ago, the trace of tongue barely even gone yet and Niccolò feels him stir against the palm of his hand, already growing hard again under his touch.

“Well, that’s promising” he laughs and turns to kiss Martino again.

“I’m not an old man like you, you know” Martino giggles into the kiss, and Niccolò wouldn’t mind doing just this, just lying here next to each other giggling and joking and touching.

But there’s something about the way Martino pulls him down on top of him, something about the way his hips buck up slightly and his fingers dig into Niccolò skin, something about the way Martino hums into the kiss and the fact that he can probably still taste himself on his tongue that is doing _things_ to Niccolò. Making him feel calm and desperate in equal measure. Calm because there’s no one he trusts like Martino. Desperate to let Martino know he can trust him too. Calm because he’s never felt like this before. Desperate because he’s _never felt like this before._

It’s almost painful to break apart, even if it’s just for a moment, and Niccolò’s never undressed himself this fast before. He grabs a condom and lube from his bag next to the couch and places it on the seat next to them, close enough to be within easy reach, far enough away to not be _too_ intimidating, and he doesn’t miss the way Martino glances at it hesitantly.

“I’m a little nervous” Martino confides in him as they lie there next to each other and Niccolò envies his honesty and the way he always seems to let himself just.. _feel_ what he feels.

“Me too” he allows himself to admit and turns back towards Martino. “We don’t have to do anything, you know that right?. All I want is to be _with_ you”

“I want it too. I just.. I’ve never- with a guy. I mean, I’ve watched porn but-“

“Yeah probably not the best source of educational content” Niccolò smiles.

“Probably not” Martino laughs and Niccolò loves that they can do this too, just laugh together.

_Just keep making him smile._

“Let’s just take it slow, okay?” Niccolò brushes his nose against Martino’s and they kiss again, this time softer, slower, and he never wants it to stop. In fact, it feels like he might actually suffocate if Martino’s lips ever leave his again.

Even when Martino’s hand starts moving from where it’s tangled in Niccolò’s hair and traces back down over his body, even when his fingertips start exploring his skin, his muscles and their reaction to his touch, even when Martino wraps his hand around Niccolò and starts stroking him slowly. Even then, do their lips stay connected.

Not until Niccolò _has_ to pull back for a moment, slightly out of breath already, to lean over and reach for the lube, not until then do they break apart momentarily. He reaches for Martino’s hand and kisses his fingertips, then pours some lube over them and he feels Martino’s breath stutter against his lips.

“I’ll show you” he whispers and guides Martino’s hand back down, letting out a shaky breath as he feels Martino’s fingers finally where he needs them, rubbing over him tentatively. His own fingers join there too, caressing Martino’s fingers and guiding them in circling movements until it isn’t enough, until his entire body is begging for more, until he finally feels his mouth gasp with the sensation of a finger breaching him slowly.

“Okay?” Martino whispers against his lips, and Niccolò can barely breathe let alone _speak_ so he just nods and spreads his legs a bit further in response.

“Another” he manages to breathe into Martino’s mouth moments later, his own hand still guiding Martino’s between his legs, showing him, until he can barely take it anymore.

“I think I’m ready” Niccolò whispers after holding back for what feels like an eternity and Martino lets out a shaky breath.

“Can we… can we try like this?” Martino nods down at himself, indicating that he wants Niccolò on top of him.”Then you can maybe.. I don’t know, set the pace?” he smiles and Niccolò leans in and kisses him again, hoping that the kiss is saying all the words he can’t make his mouth speak right now.

_I want you. I trust you. I love you._

When Niccolò finally moves up to straddle Martino, he’s so wound up he can barely keep himself upright, holding onto the backrest of the couch as if to keep himself from floating away, the red heat from the neon light burning on his skin, blanking his mind.

Martino unwraps the condom with trembling fingers and somehow it reminds Niccolò that they’re in this _together_ . He brings a calming hand down on top of Martino’s and feels him sigh and relax into the touch, almost like he’s realising the exact same thing. That they’re in this together, that they’re already _connected_.

And that’s exactly what he feels as he lets himself sink down onto Martino, an overwhelming sense of connectedness. A connection he can’t remember having felt in a long time. A connection with his own body and with everything around him, but more than anything an unbreakable connection with Martino.

_It can get tangled, but it can never break._

And when he starts moving on top Martino, it’s like every cell in his body is interlocking with Martino’s, like the magnetic pull of gravity between them is creating light and dark and every color in between, like their bodies are forming a universe of their own and all of its elements and there’s nothing else but _this_.

Nothing else but their bodies moving against each other like waves crashing onto the shore, nothing else but sighs and gasps and broken moans, nothing but whispered promises vibrating through the air. Nothing else but Marti... and Nicco. _Marti… and Nicco._

Nothing but red light and love.

_Red._

 

 

 


	9. Supernova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay, so this was long overdue!  
> Sorry for keeping you waiting (if anyone's still reading this lol) but I was just too consumed with the season and then Christmas happened ugh! Gaaawwwddd i miss Italia so much already! Anywaysss, I'm back now and planning to finish this fic in two chapters plus a small epilogue. Hope you'll like this lil update!
> 
> Title is inspired by the song "Nebula Pulsing" from the Skam Italia playlist and it's the song that plays when Niccolò runs out of the room in Milan. It's beautiful and slightly disturbing and it got me to read about pulsing nebulas and look at stunning pictures of supernovas so.  
> If you want full immersion, I highly recommend listening to it while reading this, the music really is gorgeous!
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support so far <3

 

***

 _Red_.

He’s running. Running like his life depended on it. Not sure if he’s chasing something or something is chasing him. All he knows is, he has to keep moving.

His shoes are gone and so is his clothes, and he should probably feel the cold, wet concrete freezing under his feet, the cool winter air clawing at his skin. But he can’t. He can’t feel anything at all.

Maybe the virus finally got to him too.

The streets are quiet, of course they are. Everything he ever knew is long gone. Wiped out by the inevitable, leaving him with nothing to do but wait. Like all the other stars in the sky on their path to destruction.

Everything around him is dark and quiet. No sound, no color. No more Nicco… no more-

A sudden flash of fear shoots through him as realisation dawns on him, as it hits him like a _fucking freight train_.

_Where is Martino?_

He turns his head frantically from side to side, still running like he’s on fire and he can’t for _the life of him_ bring himself to stop. Eyes desperately searching down every empty street he passes, around countless abandoned corners until he can’t see anything from the tears flooding his eyes, pouring down his cheeks and accompanied by silent screams and soundless sobbing as he plunges into total confusion, calling his name out into the void.

_Martino!!_

Did something happen to Martino? Did something chase him? Or worse, did _he_? Did he finally manage to chase him away?

He’s not sure. All he knows is Martino isn’t here anymore and he senses an urgent need to find him, to protect him.

He’s starting to sense other things too. Like the sharp sting of pain in his calves as they cramp up every time his feet hit the ground. _Every time he pushes back to try and get to the surface._ Or the burning clench in his chest as his lungs try to accommodate the chilling air around him. _Filled with water._

His thoughts are interrupted by loud ringing in his ears, ruthlessly roaring into his brain and ripping a hole in the silence. Like that moment when you regain hearing after a massive explosion, he hears it.

Like the aftershock of a supernova’s collapsing core, the pulse of the nebula swirling clouds of rainbow colored gas into space like a rotating lighthouse beam. The death throes of a dying star.

Because even the brightest in the sky will burn out and fade away, eventually.

And in the center of it all, deep inside the beating heart of this cosmic violence he finds a glow he knows so well by now.

 _Blue_.

It’s funny how you associate blue with cold temperatures when really blue flames are the warmest, he thinks to himself as hot flashes of blue light blind him, as something _or_ _someone_ grabs his shoulders and pulls him backwards, wrapping something of a blanket around him, tries to get him to stop moving. And soon, the well known glow of the blue lights is accompanied by another equally well-known feeling: _shame_.

_Make it stop. Make it stop._

His eyes shoot open, chest heaving as if he had been underwater. The familiar sound of mamma’s worried voice on the phone, _probably Maddalena’s on the other end_ , pouring out from somewhere in the kitchen along with the smell of freshly ground coffee, all muffled and muted by the large pillow he’s pressing down over his face in an attempt to drown it all out.

Breathing calming down slowly as he begins to realise, like so many times these past hours when he’s woken up drenched in sweat, that it was all just a dream.

Breathing coming to a complete stop momentarily as he realises yet again, like so many times before when he’s reached for Martino on the bed next to him, that even if this had been a dream, in _reality_ it wasn’t.

The blue lights are gone and so is the red. His room looks mundane and colorless in the afternoon sun as it fights its way through the curtains flowing in the breeze from the window. Cracked open enough to let in some much needed air, _but not enough to give_   _him any ideas_  he rolls his eyes at Maddalena and his moms imaginary conversation and focuses back on the curtains. _Beige,_ _b_ _ _ut_ if you squint real hard they look kinda yellow, _ he thinks to himself as he picks up the one colorful thing within reach, Stefano Benni’s _Ballate_ next to him where he’d fallen asleep reading.

He looks at it and smiles, feeling on a whole new level the smoking blues brother in the dark green suit, stretched thin in time and space over the cover of the book. He finds his phone too, next to it facing down on the mattress. He picks it up and recognizes the dotted giraffe and the text he had sent to Martino a few hours earlier.

**(12:10)**

The giraffe is the only animal that has the heart far from the thoughts… it has fallen in love yesterday and still doesn’t know it.

**(12:10)**

You should read Stefano Benni.

 

He exits the message and checks his inbox. No reply.

Propping himself up on the pillow he sighs and swallows hard as he gathers the courage to open a new message and start typing.

 

**(14:37)**

I’m sorry about everything. Can we talk?

 

The phone plings almost immediately and he looks down in his hand.

 

 

**(14:37)**

Your message could not be delivered.

 

Niccolò closes his eyes and leans back against the wall, releasing the grip around the old phone and feeling it slip out of his hand and down onto the floor.

He was running. Running like his life depended on it. Not sure if he was chasing something or something was chasing him. All he knows is, he chased him away.

 

 


	10. And I Will Seek Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicco POV through the week leading up to "Non sei solo"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear.
> 
> .  
> .  
> . 
> 
> I really loved writing this chapter, I hope you'll like it too <3
> 
> Title is from 'Falter' by James Fox, the song from the balcony scene.  
> I was listening to it the entire time writing, and I love it so much. Why is it not on Spotify???!! *cries in synth*

 

***

**Sana Banana (18:47)**

**هل أنت بخير؟**

 

**(19:11)**

I’m fine, thanks

**Sana Banana (19:12)**

Didn’t see you and Marti at school friday and not today, either?

 

**(19:17)**

Virus outbreak.  
No really, I’m fine

**Sana Banana (19:18)**

And Marti? He texted me on sunday he wasn’t feeling well, but didn’t say what was wrong?

 

**(19.25)**

**لا أعلم**

 

**Sana Banna (19:25)**

You don’t know?  
He’s MY friend too, you know... (don’t tell him I said that)

 

**(19:27)**

Don’t worry, I don’t think he’ll be listening much to anything I say again

**Sana Banana (19:27)**

What?

 

**(19:31)**

_I fuck everything up_

Don’t worry, it’s fine

 

**Sana Banana (19:31)**

Fares.

 

**(19:34)**

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

**Sana Banana (19:35)**

Emoticons now too?? That’s it, you’re coming with me to see Dr. Spera tomorrow.

 

**Sana Banana (19:37)**

Jokes aside, don’t you think it would be a good idea to talk to someone?

 

**Sana Banana (19:40)**

If nothing else, we can make jokes about his vegetable consumption and his weird team building exercises. Come on, it’ll be fun! (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

 

**(19:41)**

Emoticons now too?? You’re desperate, Allegui.

 

**Sana Banana (19:42)**

Obviously (don’t you dare tell anyone). But please come with me. We’ll do it first thing in the morning and then you can go home after if you need.

 

**(19:44)**

If you insist.

 

**Sana Banana (19:44)**

When do I ever NOT insist? Literally nothing I suggest is up for discussion.

 

**(19:45)**

I know <3

 

**Sana Banana (19:46)**

So I’ll see you tomorrow then?

 

**(19:48)**

Inshallah

 

**

“Ah Giraffa!”

Dr. Spera’s face lights up in a bright smile. He’s sitting on the staircase outside his office, apparently prefers to have his morning coffee there before everyone starts arriving at school.  

“You two are up early! Celery?” he offers, pointing a handful of greens at them and Sana shoots a glance at Niccolò, suppressing a laugh as she politely declines.

“So uhm… naked, huh?” Spera asks some twenty minutes later, after he’d unlocked the door and lead them inside and Niccolò had finally found the courage to talk about friday night’s events.

“ _Naked_ naked?” Sana asks curiously.

“Yeah” he mumbles, lowering his gaze.

“But more importantly, you liked Bar Luce?! I swear it’s the most pretentious piece-of-shit coffee I’ve ever had!” Spera scrunches his nose and shakes his head unimpressed. “And don’t get me started on the decor-”

“What?!” Niccolò almost flinches at his words, suddenly feeling weirdly protective of the patterned wallpaper and the pink terrazzo floor, Spera’s frown spurring on another rant about film music and a lively discussion about the characteristics of an epic love song until Sana shifts uncomfortably in her seat and clears her throat, clearly annoyed with the pace of things.

“Oh right.” Spera nods at her, trying to compose his face and turns his attention back to Niccolò. “So you have BPD” he states matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Fifty-fifty chance of killing myself before I’m 25. Great odds, huh?” and he knows he sounds cold and distant, but he’s read too much bullshit to not have some of it stuck in his brain.

“Says _who_?” Sana asks with her arms crossed in front of her and a stern voice, only he can tell it all comes from a place of love. She’s defending _him,_  not herself.

“The internet” he replies, and she smiles that signature Sana-smile telling him without words how he should really be grateful that she’s patient enough to put up with him.

“May I?” she asks directed at Spera, gesturing at the blackboard behind him and he nods. She doesn’t bother explaining, just picks up a piece of chalk and writes _NAMACISSI_ in large capital letters, leaving Spera and Niccolò equally confused.

“Not arabic, is it? I don’t recognize it” Niccolò asks.

“ _Non. Andare. Mai. A. Controllare. I. Sintomi. Su. Internet_.” she spells out, pointing at each of the letters.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Never listen to the internet!” Spera smiles and nods, then turning back towards Niccolò. “And you’re under psychiatric treatment?”

“Well yeah...”

“That’s good!”

“...I just haven’t really been going to my appointments lately” Niccolò admits. “I’ve just- I’ve been feeling better, and then there’s this boy… well I think- I _know_ , I love him but-”

“That’s wonderful!” Spera smiles wide, and Niccolò can tell Sana is smiling too out of the corner of his eye, not that she would ever admit it.

“Yeah but I didn’t tell him I’m crazy and-”

“You’re not crazy” Spera interrupts him, brows furrowed. “and there’s absolutely no reason why you can’t live a completely normal life, you know that. Just keep going to your appointments and I’m sure everything will work out just fine” he offers, and Niccolò looks at Sana.

“Just _talk_ to him” she says softly and he knows in his heart she’s right.

_Why is she always right._

“He blocked me, remember?” Niccolò takes out his phone and wiggles it at her demonstratively.

“I’d block that ancient thing too, if I could” she scowls at it and Spera breaks out in amused laughter when he sees it.

“Oh my god, I have that same phone!” he laughs, pulling out his own and for the first time ever Niccolò considers if now might be a good time to renew the device.

“And you should listen to your friend” Spera nods “Come on! Let’s try a thing!” he gets up, instructing them both to stand up and move to the center of the room despite Sana’s exaggerated eyeroll and explicit objections.

“See, this is _extremely_ unfair” she groans and puffs moments later, audibly struggling to keep herself up under the weight of Niccoló back almost on top of hers as he leans back against her.

“You do realize he’s much taller than me, don’t you? I’m basically carrying _all_ his weight right now” she complains, and Niccolò has to fight back a laugh looking up at the ceiling.

“I guess you must be a really good friend, Sana” Spera states, winking at Niccolò.

“Obviously, I am” she sighs heavily. “Now get _off!_ ”

 

 

**

 

Niccolò takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair and starts typing again for the upteenth time. Hoping that maybe, _just maybe,_  Martino has decided to unblock him.

Hello Martino-

 _No, too formal_ he decides, deleting it and starting anew.

Hi Marti. I talked to Sana-  

 _Ugh_ he deletes the last four words, still not really sure what it is he wants to say.

_Just say you’re sorry. Explain. Just tell him he’s the first person to really see you. That you were scared. Tell him he’s the only person you really trust. Just tell him you need him. Just-_

And Niccolò is getting so fucking tired of having to repeat himself to well… himself.

Marti, I’ve never felt before what I feel for you-

He feels tears press behind his eyes, a clench in his chest and he stops. Stops because he’s terrified. Stops because it feels like the safest choice. Stops because you can’t lose what you’ve never had.

So he decides to delete the whole thing. Or at least he thinks he does, accidentally pressing send before all the letters are gone.

 

**(17:00)**

H

 

He panics for a moment until his phone buzzes with a new message and his heart drops.

 

**(17:00)**

Your message could not be delivered.

 

He sighs and shuts the damn thing off entirely.

 

 

**

 

It’s dark again, and it feels like he’s standing on top of the world looking out over it from a distance, almost like he’s not really part of it anymore.

_Deserter of the balcony._

His gaze wanders over the city towards the horizon, over street lamps and rooftops, churches and flickering christmas lights covering buildings and lighting up trees, painting the city a warm, golden yellow. It’s beautiful and it reminds him of the way the sun had played in Martino’s hair on that day, the first time he was here. The day Niccolò had finally gathered the courage to actually talk to him. The first day in a long time Niccolò had let himself _feel._ Like, _really_ feel.

His gaze settles on the towers of San Giovanni and he can’t help but smile as he replays their very conversation in his mind and remembers how he’d almost had to pinch his arm to stop himself from staring at Martino.

_“You don’t look very happy about this radio thing?”_

_“It’s a long story”_

_“Do you have anything better to do?”_

And Niccolò can’t think of anything he’d rather do right now, than be here with Martino. Be _anywhere_ with Martino. But he fucked up and hurt him. _Signature move, Fares._

He sighs, feeling some sort of relief in the fact that as long as he’s alone, he can’t hurt anyone. The one good thing about being the last man on Earth. Martino is safe now.

It reminds him of how safe Martino had made him feel, even on their very first day together. How he had trusted him instantly and wanted to tell him everything.

_“I’ve never seen you?”_

It makes him think about how differently things could have gone, if he had done just that. If he had just been honest. He would go back and redo it in a heartbeat, if only he could.

_“I had to repeat a year. I’m living with a mental illness, but I’m okay.”_

Martino is down there somewhere in those lights and Niccolò’s heart is right there with him. Because even if they can’t be together, nothing is ever going to stop him from loving Martino. He feels tears start to pool in his eyes and he lets them. Lets them fill to the brink and spill down his cheeks. He feels grateful. Because even if he can’t have Martino, even if the red thread connecting their fingers is tangled or stretched out into eternity, it will never break. At least they got to have _this_.

And that’s when he makes a decision. Because even if he can never go back and change the course of time, can never undo his dishonesty, at least he can be honest _now_. At least Martino will know that he is loved.

He pulls out his old brick of a phone, barely managing to turn on after having been shut off since the night before. Just as he opens it, a new message ticks in.

 

**Elio del mio <3 (20:54)**

I tried calling you. Just wanted to know how you are. See you.

 

And once again he’s reminded how brave actually Martino is. How strong he is. And suddenly Niccolò isn’t afraid anymore. Isn’t afraid of what he might say or do wrong. Isn’t scared of the truth, of being alone. He opens a new message and types.

 

**(21:06)**

I’m on the balcony where we first met. Not feeling suicidal, don’t worry. Just melancholic. I know you’re down there in one of those twinkling lights. I’m thinking of you. Thinking that I’m in love with you and I’ve never felt anything like this before. I also think you won’t believe me. I’m sorry that I scared you. That I didn’t tell you about my problems. I was scared of losing you. But, at the end of the day, we’re all already the last men on Earth. It’s impossible to lose someone, because we’re all alone.

 

Some fifteen minutes pass, and Niccolò is getting ready to leave this sacred place, that he still gets to visit from time to time thanks to Chicco Rodi.

That’s when he sees him.

Standing in the doorway by the staircase to the balcony, looking as beautiful as ever. Before he gets to say anything, Martino is moving towards him with a determination that makes Niccolò’s breath hitch in his throat, and when Martino finally cups his face with both hands, Niccolò melts into it.

Into the warmth of the palm of his hand, into the soft touch of his fingertips and the gentle kiss on his cheek. He can tell Martino is smiling, and Niccolò shakes his head in silent disbelief. He just can’t bring himself to look up.

 _I can’t believe you’re here. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you._  

Martino brings his hand to Niccolò’s chin, lifting his head up to meet his eyes and Niccolò is instantly reliving every single time he’s looked into those eyes.

Eyes, surprised and a little embarrassed as he met them through one-way mirrored glass at their very first meeting. Eyes, curious and lustful as he holds his gaze through red light and dark shadows, imagining they’re kissing each other while their lips are occupied with someone elses. Eyes, open and direct, so many times when they’ve demanded an answer from him. _What do you want, Ni? Why are you here?_ Eyes, soft and accepting when Niccolò had no answer to give. Like now.

Martino kisses him softly.

“You are not alone. You hear me?”

He does. And he really wants to believe him too. Niccolò lets his eyes meet Martino’s again. This time more trusting, more calm. Because while it might still sometimes feel like he’s free falling, like his emotions are running wild and the adrenaline pumping through his veins might tear him apart, somehow looking into those eyes is _grounding_ him. Giving him hope, that if Martino can love and accept him through all of this, maybe he can learn to accept himself too.

Niccolò places his hands on top of Martino, embraces his touch and kisses his thumb.

_Thank you._

Niccolò might not be brave, but Martino is. And maybe that’s enough?  _Maybe,_  at least for now, Martino can be brave enough for the both of them.

 

 


	11. Love, Actually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicco POV through episode 10 + a little extra something that went missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WUTTT?! I can't believe I finally managed to finish something (like, only a few weeks late LOL)
> 
> I've had such a wonderful time writing this and talking to you guys about it, thank you so much to everyone who's read and commented, it means the world <33  
> A HUGE shout out to @solo-silenzio on tumblr - the ending is for YOUUUUU  
> Honestly, I feel like I owe at least half of this realtime experience to those who've been providing us all with quick translations THANK YOU SO MUCH (Druck fans where you at???) 
> 
> A short (outrageously fluffy) epilogue will be up some time later today or tomorrow.
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS (better late than never, right??)

 

 

***

It’s dark again.

But it’s okay, because Martino’s warm body is pressed up against him, and Niccolò can feel his chest rising and falling and his calm and steady breathing against his hand tucked under Martino’s arm.

He’s surrounded by blue. Bed sheets, that is. And it’s okay too, he smiles to himself, because it’s making Martino’s hair look even more red.

_After all, blue and red accentuate each other._

Closing his eyes, he drifts off back to sleep.

 

 

**

“Good morning!”

It doesn’t help fighting it. He’s ascending to the surface whether he likes it or not, Martino’s making sure of that. If not with the bright light he’s letting in behind him as he pulls back the curtains, then with his equally bright smile. Niccoló can feel it, warm on his back.

“Ciao” Niccolò opens his eyes slowly.

“Are you hungry? I brought you biscuits and tea” Martino asks, and Niccolò can still hear the smile in his voice behind him. A smile he still has a hard time believing he gets to have.

_A smile he doesn’t deserve._

“I’m not hungry, but thank you” Niccolò replies quietly, feeling Martino’s warm hand on his ribs, caressing him softly. “What time is it?”

“Half-past eleven, more or less”

A sudden wave of sadness crashes over him. Because Martino shouldn’t be spending his day like this, taking care of him, worrying about him.

“I should go”

“Why?” Martino objects, laying down behind him and Niccolò feels his hand on his shoulder as Martino pulls him into a warm embrace.

“Because I don’t feel really well” he sighs.

“And where is the problem in that? I’m right here with you” Martino kisses the back of his neck with a certainty that is bringing tears to Niccolòs eyes.

_How can he sound so sure? How can he be this strong?_

Martino snuggles in closer, and Niccolò can feel him smile against his skin, and he would never be able to forgive himself if he was ever to take that smile away again.

“I don’t want you to see me like this” he breathes out, feeling a tear slip away and trail over the brink of his nose and down onto the pillow he’s holding onto, trying to keep himself from shaking with it. “It makes you look sad”

“That’s not true. Look at me! I don’t look sad?” Martino insists. Still certain, still strong.

“No”

“You don’t want to look at me?” he asks playfully. There’s still nothing but patience and love in his voice, and Niccolò’s heart is about to burst right out of his chest.

He shakes his head, feeling Martino nuzzle in closer.

“Because I already know it can’t work” he lets out a shaky breath, tears still spilling down onto the pillow.

“What are you even saying?”

“Trust me” Niccolò says, and it’s not the good kind of trust, it’s the speaking-from-horrible-experience kind of trust. “I’d hurt you so bad and you’d end up hating me”

“I think you don’t know _shit_ ” Martino stops him, sounding adorably stubborn and Niccolò can’t help but smile.

“I don’t?”

And he knows Martino is right. Knows no one can predict the future. And just like so many times before, Martino tells him everything Niccolò needs to hear, everything he already knows deep down but forgets when his brain tries to corrupt him.

“Stop thinking about the future” Martino whispers into his hair. “Let’s just enjoy this.”

Niccolò closes his eyes and smiles, feeling the weight of Martino’s body shift on the bed as he leans in over him.

“Let’s play a game” he says and Niccolò finally lets himself turn to look at him. At his soft auburn hair, the tiny freckles over his nose, the promise in his eyes.

“It’s called _Martino and Niccolò: minute by minute_ ” he says, and Niccolò can’t help but smile at his eagerness. “It goes like this: we only have to think about the next minute. You up for it?”

And somehow Martino’s words make Niccolò’s shoulder relax into the pillow under him, make his whole body relax under the weight of Martino. Make his racing heart calm down with the promise that even if they can never know the future, they can know the _now_.

_Life is now._

“And what are we gonna do the next minute?” Niccolò asks in feigned skepticism, knowing _exactly_ what he wants to do the next minute.

“This minute… you could have breakfast, for example?” Martino suggests, knowing just as well that’s not what Niccolò has in mind. “You don’t like that. Then… we could kiss?” he suggests, and Niccolò can’t think of anything he’d rather do than kiss Martino right this minute.

_And the next. And the one after that._

“But I didn’t brush my teeth” he teases.

“Only kisses on the nose, then” Martino laughs.

So that’s what they do. Kiss each other on the nose. Once. Twice. Rubbing their noses together gently, until their movements become slower and their breathing heavier and when their lips finally meet in a kiss so soft it’s making Niccolò melt into the mattress, he really couldn’t care less about morning breath.

“Yeah okay-” Martino pulls back slightly, scrunching his nose through a wide smile “Maybe the next minute, we could go brush our teeth?” he laughs and Niccolò pushes him over, laughing too.

“Fuck you!” he tickles and presses little kisses all over Martino’s face, and Martino giggles and objects half-heartedly.

_Fuck, I love you._

 

 

**

 

“Have you no shame? Still sleeping at 10 in the morning? I already had both a written and an oral test” Martino teases, and Niccolò can literally hear his smile through the phone.

He’s back home now, and everything seems a little lighter, a little less terrifying, with each hour passing.

“How did it go?”

“Well, 7- Given the circumstances… I’d say it’s fine”

“Am I _the circumstances_?” Niccolò teases back, and it feels good to tease and joke about it all a bit, even just for a little bit, just like his therapist had suggested.

 _Why is she always right?_  

“Something like that. Will you come tomorrow?” Martino asks, and there’s no judgment, no pressure in his words. Nothing but patience and acceptance, and even though Niccolò still has a hard time believing he actually deserves it, still has a hard time understanding that Martino decided to stay with him despite everything he put him through, he’ll trust that Marti is capable to make this kind of decision for himself. Just like his therapist had suggested.

_She’s worse than Sana at this point._

“I don’t know. I think it’s more likely that I’ll come on Wednesday-” Niccolò says, hearing his mother’s footsteps in the hallway. “Wait, my mom is here” he interrupts himself.

He had arrived home late last night so they haven’t had a chance to talk, and even if they had texted a bit, he knows she would want to talk to him. And for the first time in a long time, he wants to talk to her too.

“Mum?” he calls from the kitchen. “We’ll talk later, okay?” he says to Martino, sending him off with a row of kisses and cute ciao’s that would make Stefano Benni roll his eyes hard.

He turns and sees his mom standing in the doorway, looking at him.

“Was that Mar-” she stops herself, almost like she feels she hasn’t earned the right to speak his name yet.

“Martino. Yes.” he nods. “One of _all those boys_ ” he mimics her words and sends her a small smile, knowing full well those words were said out of mere frustration.

“Listen, Ni” she steps into the kitchen and leans against the kitchen counter, letting out a shaky breath and suddenly she looks older in a way, more fragile than he’s noticed before.

“When all those things happened last year…” he can hear the tremble in her voice and see her eyes water at the memory. “I just-“

“I know, mom”

“No, please let me apologize properly” she continues and swallows before opening her mouth to speak again.

“I hated myself, Niccolò. I hated that I didn’t see your suffering, that I didn’t do something sooner. There _were_ signs, Ni. And as your mother, I should have seen them, I should have been there for you. I should have-“ her voice cracks and she looks down, but he can still see tears stream down her face, and in some ways it feels like looking in a mirror.

He walks over and takes her hands in his.

“I swore I would never miss another sign” she sighs and looks up at him. “But instead I started seeing signs, symptoms, _everywhere_ ”

“Martino isn’t a symptom, mom” Niccolò looks into her eyes, tears in his own eyes too now. “He’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time”

“I know, baby. And I feel terrible for what I said” she nods, lifting her hands to hold his face in them, wipe away the tears with her thumbs.

“I wish I could go back in time and change it, but I can’t” she says, and it’s a feeling Niccolò knows all too well himself. “But I can do better _now_ , if you’ll let me? If you’ll let me meet him again?” she sends him a small smile, eyes searching his face questioningly and he pulls her into a hug in response.

“We’ll see” he teases, and she laughs into his shoulder.

 

 

**

 

“Good job, bro!” Gio high fives him, and there’s still something a bit intimidating about being in the company of Martino’s protective friends, especially Gio, but he’s starting to get used to it now.

“They completely destroyed us” Elia sighs.

“Guys, you’re losers” Niccolò replies matter-of-factly.

“Losers?” Marti snorts adorably. “It’s because I have _this one_ on my team and he sucks” he nods at Elia, and Niccolò loves this. Loves watching a happy Martino playfully banter and joke with his friends. In fact, it’s quickly making it to his list of favorite things to watch (right after a naked Martino in his bed or _say_ , a naked Martino on top of him and-)

 _And_ he really shouldn’t be thinking about _that_ right now.

“Having said that.. I’m going now” he picks up his backpack, off to see his therapist and then, if everything goes well, to have that coffee with Maddalena he’s been postponing long enough.

“So are you coming on friday after all?” Martino asks, his voice careful and hopeful, and Niccolò hopes he can. He really does.

“We’ll see” he says as they lock eyes, and he can tell that Martino sees him. Like, _really_ sees him.

“Right. Minute by minute.”

“Are _you_ gonna come?” he asks directed at first Elia, then Gio, knowing how much Martino actually wants them to come, even if he won’t admit it.

“Where?”

“To the radio’s Christmas tombola?” he smiles and Gio almost cracks up laughing.

“I don’t think so, bro. But thank you anyway.”

“Well” he says hesitantly and Martino leans in and kisses him goodbye softly, and Niccolò’s heart still flutter every time. There’s no shame, no hiding, just love and unspoken promises.

“Enough, you little polyps! Come on, always sucking face?! It’s always like this, _stop_!” Elia teases, and maybe NIccolò’s more than getting used to it, maybe he’s starting to feel like he’s part of it, like they’re his friends too.

“Losers” he flips them off teasingly and looks at Martino one final time before turning to leave, and he isn’t lying. He's never felt more like a winner.

 

 

**

 

“Martino told me you called him” he says, looking down and stirring the coffee he still haven’t touched.

“I did” Maddalena brings the cup to her lips again, and he can tell she’s studying his face over it as she takes a sip.

“Thank you for that” he mutters, still not finding the courage to look directly at her.

“I didn’t do it for you” she responds in a firm tone.

“I know” he finally manages to look up, surprised to find her smiling back at him.

“Martino’s a good guy” she nods as if to give her words more emphasis. “It’s different this time, I can feel it too.”

Her words bring him back to last year, to what he put her through and it’s still breaking his heart that he managed to break hers over and over again.

She sets the cup back down on the table. “...And as much as you hurt me going behind my back like that... I can tell he’s good for you.”

“Listen, Maddi...” he reaches for her hand and she lets him. “You’re my best friend. You-” he takes a deep breath “You saved me from myself so many times, and I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. I just- I couldn’t lose you.”

“I’m always going to be your friend, Coli- _Nicco_ ” she corrects herself and squeezes his hand gently before letting go.

They sit there in silence for a moment, and somehow the air has changed around them. In a way he can tell that she’s relieved too.

“Or maybe more like a sister?” she suddenly says, her face lighting up in a teasing smile. “We were more like brother and sister in the end anyway, weren’t we?” she laughs. “Like, when was the last time we even fucked? Six months ago?”

“More like four, I think” he chuckles and shakes his head.

“Four, _really_?” she raises her eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Not that memorable I guess, huh?” she winks and laughs, and so does he.

 

 

**

 

Everyone’s left and Niccolò can finally let his shoulders down, let his guards down. Maybe it _was_ a little early to be spending an entire evening in the company of so many people he’d barely met before, but Martino had been so happy to see him and the _contrabbandieri_ had gone out their way to make him feel welcome. To make him feel at home. Even Sana had been soft with him and Martino, still sending him that signature Sana look to let him know she’d destroy him if he was ever to bring it up again of course.

He’d tried to take it slow, allowing himself little breaks of solitude in the kitchen when he needed it, _allowed Martino a little solitude of their own in the bathroom too_ , and he’d felt nothing but loved and safe by Martino’s side.

Still, there’s nothing more soothing than when they’re alone like now. Standing in the kitchen, emptying cans and beer bottles brought to him by a slightly drunk and giddy Martino, watching as he moves gracelessly in and out of the empty living room, half-dancing and humming along to some awful Christmas tune he would have hated if he was sober. And Martino looks so cute, Niccolò could write a song about _him_. A better one.

_A full fucking symphony._

“You really managed to get them all to come, baby” he smiles as Martino enters the kitchen, hands and arms and chin occupied with half-empty cans and bottles.

“They didn’t come for me, though” he laughs, dropping it all off in the sink and placing a sloppy kiss to Niccolò’s cheek. “They came for Argentina”

“The country?” Niccoló asks curiously.

“The girl” he rolls his eyes adorably and continues to sing along to the next awful song blasting from the speakers.

“What even is _that_?” Niccoló grimaces.

“It’s some rock version of Silent Night” Martino grins and squeezes Niccoló’s butt through his jeans.

“You know, they play Silent Night in Love Actually.. but if I was directing, I’d gone with O Santa Notte-”

“Oh no, not that movie again” Martino backs out of the kitchen laughing, none of them registering the sound of the front door slamming shut echoing down the hallway.

“Marti! I got your text. I brought pizza like you said” he hears Martino’s mom say as she moves past him and steps into the kitchen.

“Oh” she stops herself and backs up, almost tripping over the door step. “I didn’t know you still had guests”

“No, mamma” Marti comes up behind her to help regain balance, her eyes searching first Niccolò’s then Martino’s curiously.

“Mamma, this is _Niccolò_ ” he pauses and smiles, taking the pizza trays. Her eyes widen for a moment, then soften and light up into a warm smile as he stands up a little straighter, offering her his hand.

“Niccolò. It’s a pleasure to meet you”

“Niccoló” she just repeats slowly, taking his hand in hers and placing her other one on top of it. She’s holding his gaze, but not with the scrutiny he would expect from someone sceptical of who her son might be dating. Instead he sees acceptance and curiosity and perhaps some sort of familiarity in them, almost like she recognizes a little bit of herself in him.

“Mamma, that’s not your name” Martino nudges her shoulder.

“Oh, no” she laughs nervously “I’m Anna. Nice to finally meet you” she smiles “I wasn’t sure he’d ever let me” she sends Martino a stern look, but her eyes are warm and loving.

“Yeah, and you better snap out of it” Martino teases, as he catches her glancing up and down Niccoló briefly. “Or it’ll be the last time, too”

“So tell me...” she says an hour or so later as the three of them sit around the table, each warming their hands on a cup of tea, too full to remove the empty pizza trays from the table. “How did you two meet?” she leans in over the table and smiles eagerly, mostly to Niccoló. “I bet it was romant-”

“It _wasn’t_ romantic” Martino interrupts her with a chuckle. “We met at this stupid radio meeting Sana blackmailed me into joining” he blurts out, stiffening next to Niccolò as he realizes what he almost said.

“Blackmailed you?” Martino’s mom frowns and Martino clears his throat.

“Yeah no, nevermind. Just Sana being Sana” he shakes his head. “And this one?” he nods at Niccolò “He was just there so he didn’t have to clean toilets” he shrugs with a smile.

“Huh?” Niccoló frowns, and Martino turns to look at him.

“Yes? You said that. On the balcony. That you were there to get out of cleaning fast food toilets” Martino shakes his head at him.

“You thought I did it to get out of school-work interchange?” Niccolò bust out in a fond laugh and takes his hand. Martino quickly glances at his mother sitting across from them, but she just smiles and raises her eyebrows eagerly at Niccolò, silently asking him to finish the story.

“I was there to meet you” he states matter-of-factly and Martino turns fully, surprised and clearly confused. Still smiling though.

“Had you seen me before that first radio meeting?” he asks curiously, almost like he can’t believe it.

“Yes” Niccoló lifts Martino’s hand and places a small kiss to it before turning back towards Martino’s mother who’s leaning in even closer, not even trying to hide her excitement.

Niccolò just smiles and whispers.

 

“I saw him first day of school.”

 

 

***

 

 

 

 


	12. O Santa Notte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Christmas Eve in a parallel universe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. after the Milan clip I was kind of expecting a lil post-season clip with Nicco showing up at Marti's door on Christmas Eve being all cute and EXTRA but he never did... so here's some extra!Marti instead ;) It’s maybe a little ooc, but I thought it would be a cute and fun way to end this angsty ride.
> 
> Thank you again for reading and for all your lovely comments - I hope you’ll enjoy this little fluff-fest of an epilogue too! *hides*
> 
> <3

 

*******

 

**Elio del mio <3 (21:16)**

Merry xmas baby

 

**(21:17)**

Merry Christmas, my love. I miss you so much

 

**Elio del mio <3 (21:17)**

I miss you too

 

**Elio del mio <3 (21:18)**

So... I finally got around to watch Love Actually

 

Niccolò faintly remembers ranting about Love Actually that fateful night in Milan, squeezing his eyes shut when he recalls what he said and did, mouth full of sushi. When he thinks about how confused and embarrassed Martino must have been.

 

**(21.19)**

You hated it didn’t you?

 

**Elio del mio <3 (21.19)**

Come outside

 

**(21.19)**

What?

 

**Elio del mio <3 (21.20)**

Just come outside

 

He opens the door and stops in his tracks at the sight of Martino standing there in the hallway, looking as beautiful as ever in his blue coat and beanie, shivering slightly from the cold.

He’s holding up a regular piece of A4-sized paper with a large eyeroll emoji drawn onto it in black ink and Niccolò has to fight back a laugh.

Martino smiles and signals for him to be quiet with a finger against his lips and _god_ Niccolò wants to kiss those lips. He doesn’t say anything, just lets the first piece of paper fall to the ground.

 

 

**DON’T GET YOUR HOPES UP**

 

 

Niccolò lifts an eyebrow at him, and Martino drops another piece of paper.

 

**I’M NOT WATCHING**

**ANY MORE SHITTY MOVIES**

**JUST BECAUSE YOU LIKE**

**THE SOUNDTRACK**

 

 

Martino gives him a stern look, almost as if to say _you hear me_? and Niccolò chuckles and nods in agreement, the smile on his face growing wider as Martino drops another piece of paper.

 

 

**SO, IN THE SHITTY MOVIE**

**THEY PLAY SILENT NIGHT**

**BUT YOU LIKE THIS ONE BETTER**

 

 

He lets go of the paper with one hand and pulls out his phone to put on _O Santa Notte_ and Niccolò's heart flutters a bit as he realises Martino’s remembered. Martino shoves his phone back in his pocket, the music playing in the background as he raises the papers again, letting another piece fall to the floor.

 

 

**SO THAT NIGHT IN MILAN**

 

 

Niccolò is holding his breath, a small clench in his chest as he recalls that night. The beautiful view over the skyline from their balcony in Milan and the beautiful moment they shared together that night. The way he'd later fucked it all up and fallen to pieces. The way Martino had picked him right up and put him back together. Beautiful view, different balcony. Still, there's nothing as beautiful as this, Martino with a playful smile on his lips.

He lets another paper drop to the floor.

 

 

**YOU ASKED ME TO MARRY YOU**

 

 

Another paper drops quickly

 

**DON’T GET YOUR HOPES UP**

**I’M NOT PROPOSING**

 

Niccolò bursts out laughing at that one, and Martino just shakes his head fondly at him, his eyes briefly glancing at the half open door behind Niccolò just to check they’re still alone before letting another piece of paper drop.

 

 

**BUT I DID REALIZE SOMETHING**

 

 

And Niccolò is as eager to see the next paper as he’s ever been to see _anything_ and Martino can probably tell, not letting him wait too long until he lets another piece of paper fall.

 

 

**EVEN THOUGH YOU**

**LIKE SHITTY MOVIES**

**(AND MAKE SHITTY CARBONARA)**

 

Another paper drops.

 

**TO ME, YOU ARE**

**PERFECT**

 

Niccolò recognizes the words from the movie instantly, fighting back tears because even if he isn’t perfect and never will be, he knows Martino means it.

 

 

**AND I NEVER ACTUALLY**

**GOT TO ASK YOU THIS**

 

 

Another piece of paper falls to the floor.

 

 

**NICCOLÒ FARES**

 

 

And another one.

 

 

**(IT REALLY IS A WEIRD NAME, HUH?)**

 

 

Niccolò chuckles and nods before Martino drops another piece of paper, _O Santa Notte_ still streaming out from inside his pocket.

 

 

**WILL YOU**

 

 

And Niccolò can no longer stop himself from lunging at Martino in full force, their lips crashing together in a kiss that’s more teeth and _yes’s_ than anything else and still it’s the best kiss he’s ever had, because Martino is standing there, with just one piece of paper in his one hand and Niccolò’s heart in the other.

 

 

**BE MY BOYFRIEND?**

 

 

***

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to come gush over Skam Italia with me or send me (preferably smutty lol) prompts! I'm @skamsnake1 on Twitter and @skamsnake on Tumblr.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Desertores del balcon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911112) by [Charo_Charito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charo_Charito/pseuds/Charo_Charito)




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